


Golem

by sandymg



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Preseries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-12-03 05:23:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/694628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandymg/pseuds/sandymg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dad's in Minnesota keeping secrets, Dean's picked up a solo hunt, and Sam ... where is Sam?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Golem

**Author's Note:**

> Mostly preseries. Some spoilers through late Season 4. References Scarecrow S01x11 and Jump the Shark S04x19
> 
> A/N: Written well before Supernatural's Golem episode aired. Therefore, this is an AU interpretation of a golem.

**Chapter 1**

****

**Burkittsville, Indiana**

**April 15, 2006**

“So, what’s the plan?” Emily asked with a confident ring in her voice, despite being tied to a tree, in an orchard that hid a hideous monster.

Dean, similarly bound, looked over at her. She believed in him. And of course he was going to get them out of this. Piece of cake. Or maybe a piece of their damn apple pie.

“I’m workin’ on it,” he replied, wriggling his wrists against the amazingly efficient knot the sheriff had made. Jerk must have been a Boy Scout. Probably won all kinds of merit badges making knots like this. He strained his fingers further seeing if he could rub the knot along the bark of the tree. Not that the tree had much bark, unnaturally smooth in fact.

He had to give these townspeople credit. They knew their business. Stripped him of all his weapons, even found the hidden knife where that sheriff really should not have been looking. Not that Dean would have been able to reach the knife once tied, so it was kind of moot.

Emily just this morning had a loving aunt and uncle and now was trussed up by those very same folks as pagan god chow. _People_. Yeesh. How could they do this to one of their own – their _family?_ Not that he thought they should be sacrificing an outsider either, particularly not when it was him.

Just a year ago the scarecrow’s gruesome face belonged to a young man travelling the countryside with his wife. Minding their own business, taking in the scenery, stopping for local pie. Then a bit of car trouble, a walk through the orchard for help and _bam!_ into a nightmare they never woke up from. He hoped for their sakes it had been quick but it probably wasn’t.

Turning his neck he tried to look behind him. Couldn’t see the creature, but a look at the sky told him he had time. It wouldn’t come till after sunset. Three hours easy.

Plenty of time. Okay, Winchester … time for that plan. He had to work the problem. What would Dad do? Well, Dad wouldn’t of gotten himself in this mess. And he’d be mighty furious if he knew how stupid Dean’d been. ‘Course Dad was already disappointed in him. The old man hadn’t said it, but Dean knew. Why else would Dad have taken off without him? And now Dean’d gotten Sam involved again. For the best that Sam wasn’t here. ‘Cause he’d likely be tied up to the tree next to him and that would be even worse. Sam belonged in Stanford, getting his shot at a normal life. Well, if you can call ceilings that explode into flames normal. Was normal for his fucked up family, not so much for everyone else.

Dean had meant what he’d told his little brother on the phone earlier. _You were right. You gotta live your own life_. And Dean was proud of him. Always had been. Smart. Brave. _You stand up to Dad_. Was what made Sam a good hunter. A fine partner. A great brother.

The ropes were chafing his skin the more he fought against them. Could be worse. At least he wasn’t fighting holes in his brain while trying to battle this creature. Now that was one of those hunts he was practically glad he couldn’t remember well. _And how would he know what he was missing, anyway?_ Dad had filled him in on the highlights.Old man never mentioned it again once it was over. Became a taboo subject. They had a bunch of those.

“Maybe it won’t … I mean, doesn’t the sacrifice have to be a couple? We, you know … we’re not really …”

Emily startled Dean out of his musings. He really wanted to reassure her. Wondered for a second if he should lie? But he hated being lied to, so he couldn’t. “Sorry. Doesn’t work that way. I think it just needs a male and a female. Doesn’t really matter beyond that.” He smirked. “Now if you’ve got a surprise under your dress, that might make a difference.”

She laughed shakily. “Sorry. Only girl parts.”

He turned to her, trademark eyebrow waggle in place. “My favorite kind.” She smiled, blushing slightly. At least she wasn’t scared. _Yet_. He thought back to the poor fool up on that perch. Is that what Dad and Sam will find when they come looking for him? An empty-eyed scarecrow wearing a familiar amulet? This really was coming ridiculously close to a repeat of last year. What was it with April, some sort of cursed month? April Fool’s on Dean Winchester all month long?

Another glance at Emily. Her eyes were closed and it looked like she was praying. He wasn’t quite ready for that yet. Not something he did. Dad was missing. Sam was gone. Nope, no one was coming to the rescue. The only one getting him out of this mess was himself. And this time, at least he still had that.

* * *

****

**Waterloo, Iowa**

**April 2005**

“Should take maybe three days, could be a little longer.”

“You sure you don’t want me to come with?”

Dad looked at him. “No. No need. You hold down the fort and take a few days off. Earned it after this one.”

Dean smiled. Their last case had been a bitch. Nasty poltergeist. Took both of them all they had to send that sucker back to the netherworld. Ducking chairs and footstools and a friggin’ kitchen table … like being swept up in Dorothy’s tornado. And he’d gotten nailed by a window that splintered apart like crushed ice. Only those shards pierced. He touched his forehead. Needed stitches. Been a long while since it had gotten that rough. Last time, Sammy’d cleaned him up. The smile disappeared.

“So, Minnesota. And you say this old acquaintance is sure it’s a benign spirit?”

“Yes. Simple job like I said. ‘S easy and will give you a chance for some R&R.”

“Dad … I’m fine, don’t need to—“

“No more arguing.” His Dad smiled at him. “Maybe you can ask that pretty girl from the diner out to a movie or whatever passes for dating these days.”

Dean stared at his father. The old man hardly had taken any interest in his love life before other than to warn against STDs and pregnancy and he never suggested dates for Dean. “Dad, you okay?”

His father looked at him with a small almost smile. “Yeah. Just thinking it’s not only your brother that deserves normal once in a while.”

Huh? They didn’t talk about Sam, well hardly. But his father’s eyes seemed to be making this about more than Sam, which really made no sense. “Yes, sir,” he replied because he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

His father nodded and resumed packing his gear. Really must be an easy case because Dad seemed to be only packing some clothes. Maybe he’d already stowed the rest in the car?

“Tricia,” Dean said as his father zipped up his duffel.

“What?”

“The waitress. Her name’s Tricia, short for Patricia.”

“Oh,” Dad smiled.

Dean was about to volunteer the rest, how she had a boyfriend and he’d only been flirting with her because it was fun but his dad’s smile stopped him. No point in saying more. Not like they’d be staying in this town much longer. He’d been surprised when his dad had rented the tiny house for another month. Long term was not in their vocabulary.

So Dean let his father leave thinking he’d be enjoying the company of a pretty girl instead of settling in for a few days of old movies on the television and sleeping. He pictured the sparkle in Tricia’s gray-blue eyes when she’d smiled at him. Then her boyfriend had walked in and the light in those eyes filled her entire face. Of course just because Tricia was taken didn’t mean there weren’t other women he could hook up with while Dad was gone.

The Impala’s engine whirred away.

Nah. Maybe it’d be best to just stick to the TV. Would cover up the quiet well enough and not expect anything in the morning.

He’d been digging around the small kitchen to scrounge up some dinner when one of Dad’s cell phones starting ringing. He walked to the desk and flipped open the phone to check the caller ID. Not a number he knew. This phone was old but Dad kept it connected for certain old contacts who used this number exclusively.

“Hello.”

“John?”

“No. John’s not here right now. This is his son, Dean.”

“Oh, yeah, Dean. John’s mentioned you. You work with your father, right?”

“Yeah. My Dad do a job for you before?”

“Sure did. Helped with a bad spirit in a store I once owned.”

“And what seems to be the trouble now, Mr.—?”

“Name’s Barrister. Well, it’s not for me this time. Friends of mine in Cedar Falls, Iowa. Just moved into a new place. Think it’s haunted.”

Dean blinked. Unusual coincidence to get a call for a new job in a neighboring city from where they were.

“Could just be an old house settling.”

“Yeah, but from what they described I think it’s more than that. Cold spots. Strange sounds. Now that I’ve been through this once I think they’re talking the real deal. Could you and your dad take this on? Help my friends out? I would really appreciate it.”

Dean sighed inwardly. So much for R&R. Dad was always loyal to old clients. Besides, he didn’t really like sitting around alone doing nothing until Dad returned. Was different when Sam’d been here. It’d always been okay when Dad left him and Sam alone. It’s not like they never fought. They had their battles like all brothers did, he supposed. But without Dad around they’d settle into this amiable routine. His brother was so easy to tease with his geek smarts and over-the-top expressions of outrage that made Dean want to push a little harder each time just to see if he could bring about an even better bitchface. And truthfully, Sam could give as good as he got. Which made it a lot more challenging … and fun.

“My father can’t take this on right now, Mr. Barrister but I can. In fact, I’m in Waterloo, right next door to Cedar Falls. What’s your friend’s name? I can head over there tomorrow.”

It was late and after he hung up Dean scraped the very last of the peanut butter onto the last slice of bread and devoured it thinking really he needed to buy groceries. A headache started to bug him so he downed a couple of Tylenol with a beer and skipping his nightly TV ritual, headed straight for bed.

He fell asleep almost instantly and started dreaming about that night in Pittsburgh with this really hot chick a few months back. It was cold and the girl’s apartment was freezing but after a few minutes under the blankets with her he shivered for a whole ‘nother reason. And then her roommate came home early and the girl under him had licked her lips and asked if he’d ever been with two girls at once and he’d lied and said of course with his face … didn’t even bother to verbalize. But inside he was a little anxious, ‘cause sure it was hot in porn but something about sharing something that’s supposed to be intimate _personal_ was gnawing at him a little. But only a little because then the roomie walked in and Jesus, she made the other one look shy.

The dream followed the events … like an instant replay or something. So vivid. Was weird. And then out of the corner of his eye there was this new tall shadow and he jumped and shouted _oh, no … no way on a foursome_. The girls looked at him, interrupting their exploration of each other and said _what?_ And then something tore through his head – sharp, jagged, like claws raking inside his skull. He awoke with a start shouting _help_ … _stop_ and his brother’s name.

* * *

Dean approached the house slowly, surveying it from the outside with a practiced eye. He’d ridden the bus into Cedar Falls before heisting this nondescript set of wheels. Couldn’t risk lifting a car from where they were living. He’d been tempted by some sweet rides but settled on this SUV because it had that belong-on-any-street-in-America look. Given that there were a few just like it parked up the block he’d made a good choice.

The doormat was decorated with a leaf wreath pattern and included a script _Johnston Family_ in the center. Guess this was the right place. He marveled at this. Imagine living someplace long enough to bother putting out a mat like this. Had their house in Lawrence ever had one?

Charles Johnston opened the door and put his hand out. Firm grip, warm handshake and steady honest gaze. Dean immediately felt glad he took the job. Inside he was introduced to Charlie’s wife, Cheryl and their ten-year-old son, Alex. Floppy haired little boy that reminded Dean of Sammy at that age.

The boy eyed him curiously with an intense hazel stare. “You’re a Ghostbuster?” he said, mouth twisting slightly.

“Sort of,” Dean replied cautiously. “Just going to check out what the trouble is.” He was surprised the parents told the boy about this.

As if reading his thoughts Cheryl explained. “Alex heard the noises first. We figured it was nothing, his imagination, you know. But then Charlie started hearing it and things weren’t where we left them. And then …”

Her face paled a bit and her husband touched her arm gently, saying, “Go on honey.”

“We found a … message … in our bathroom.”

She rose. “I cleaned it up. But before, we took a photo.” Cheryl looked toward Alex. “It’s on the computer.” Dean followed her to the computer on the desk in the corner. She clicked open a window. The words “Get the Fuck Out” were painted on a bathroom mirror in red. Looked like blood. He imagined the poor woman’s shock walking in to find that.

“It was so cold ... the bathroom that night. Colder than … like a freezer.”

He nodded and closed the image. “I have a few questions about the house.”

The Johnstons nodded. Cheryl offered him coffee and when Dean said sure she and Charlie disappeared into the kitchen leaving Dean alone with Alex in their dining room. Dean took in the warm pine table and pretty glass-doored sideboard showcasing brightly colored bowls. He’d eaten a few meals over the years in a dining room. But his family hadn’t had one. Well, not since Lawrence.

After a few seconds of silence the boy said, “The ghost used a bad word.”

Dean looked at him surprised. Must have sneaked a look at his mom’s computer. Reminded him more of his kid brother by the second. He took the opportunity to find out what the boy’d heard.

“First it was like a scraping sound, only, you know, behind the walls. I thought it was mice or rats. I was afraid to tell Mom ‘cause she’d wig, you know.”

Dean nodded. “Did you hear any voices?”

The boy looked down. “Nah. I mean, maybe, I couldn’t really make out what it …”

Dean moved seats over next to Alex and leaned down a bit to meet the boy’s eyes. “I think this spirit is angry. Using bad words and all. Usually an angry spirit will make threats or shout things or, well, act like it’s having a temper tantrum. That’s the thing to remember, spirits like this, they’re nothing but overgrown two-year-olds having a fit.”

The anxiety on Alex’s face turned to amusement. “Really?” he said.

“Yep. The louder they whine the more they hope they get heard. So, what did this one say to you?”

“He used a lot of bad words. Stuff my mom would kill me if she heard me say.”

Dean bent in closer. “You can tell me. I’ve heard it all and I won’t tell your mom. Promise.”

Alex looked nervous. “Well, he yelled that we were intruding and that we didn’t belong. Then he said … he said we were mutherf—“

Dean interrupted, “Okay, I get it … what else?”

“Well … _that_ … and that we better, you know, _that_ word, leave or he’d … he’d burn us to ashes.” Alex’s small pale face now stared up at him fearfully.

“It’s okay,” Dean said, placing a hand on the boy’s small shoulder. “I’m not going to let it hurt you or your family. I promise.”

The boy’s parents returned holding a tray with coffee mugs and looked from Alex to Dean questioningly. Dean looked at Cheryl willing her to understand that it would be best if she found a way to occupy her son. With a mother’s instinct she said to Alex. “How about I pop in a movie for you in the family room?”

Alex looked at Dean, who nodded. “I’m going to talk to your folks and we’re going to take care of this. Nothing bad’s going to happen.”

The boy disappeared with his mother and Dean took down as much information about the house as he could get from Charlie. In the past, Sam’d do the research but Dean knew his way around the library and records offices … Dean blinked. Why couldn’t Sam help with the research?

Cheryl returned just then and looked at Dean oddly. “You okay?”

He put his hands through his hair and straightened up. “Yeah. Sorry. You were telling me about your house. It’s very nice.”

Dean stared at the couple. Why was he here? Something about the house he was supposed to uncover. But it was fuzzy, like his brain was filled with cotton. He picked up the coffee mug and took a sip. Maybe the caffeine would help. He did feel sorta tired.

“So do you have what you need?” Charlie asked.

“Um, yeah, I think so,” Dean replied. He looked down at the pad in his hands, startled to find it filled with his handwriting. He’d taken pages of notes. But he didn’t remember writing a thing. This was very strange. Maybe Dad would know what this was about. Or Sam. Yeah, Sam’d be able to figure it out. His little brother was so smart. Wasn’t anything he couldn’t puzzle out.

**  
**

**Chapter 2**

The creature watched the man leave the house and stare around absently for many moments. Then the man walked up to the big metal thing with wheels. The creature didn’t know what it was but had imagined the man would know because _He_ was smart. But soon the creature would be smart, too. The creature’s mind filled up with _His_ knowledge whenever they were close. Changing. Getting stronger. After a few seconds the man entered the metal box _car_ and sped away.

Father _master_ would not be happy that the creature had snuck out. He was not supposed to be seen _monster_. He was supposed to hide. Once the creature became _Himself_ he’d be pretty like the man. And then he’d be able to go out and see all the pretty girls. He’d been thinking about girls a lot now. Snuck looks at them and followed them with the pits that served as his eyes. But father _master_ said that soon the creature would have pretty green eyes like the man.

Then the creature could look at the pretty girls and they would smile _not shriek_ and maybe even do some of those other things that were starting to appear in his mind from just these short encounters with _Him_. Yes, it seemed the man liked girls _sex_ very much and every time he was with a girl like that he would be sated and full and complete — but then the man would roll over and that feeling would be gone, replaced by something else, familiar and dull. Except the creature thought maybe it wouldn’t be like this for him, maybe he’d figure out how to keep the good feeling.

* * *

Dean felt better as he drove away from the Johnston’s home. In fact, the further he got the clearer and more relaxed he felt. Crazy what had happened. Like some sort of mini blackout. But he was okay now and he had his notes to fill in whatever blanks there were. He figured he’d better lay off the whiskey for a while. Not that he drank all that much, but still … it was weird. He thought fleetingly about calling Dad but the job was nothing he couldn’t handle. ‘Sides his father didn’t raise him to run to daddy. Nope, best to help this family. Protect the little boy.

Uncanny how Alex reminded him of Sammy. He swallowed. Nope. Not going there. Sam was living a normal life. Was for the best. Even Dad thought so although he’d never say it. Dean knew Sam was happy. Had seen it with his own eyes more than once. Sam didn’t know. Had only caught him once, and that was years ago. Dean’d gotten much better at it. Didn’t indulge his need to check on Sam often. Couple, three times a year. Something would take him and Dad west. And he’d sneak away and track his little brother down and watch him from a distance.

Sam’d laugh with his school buddies. Recently there was this really pretty girl with long curly blonde hair. Dean never got close enough to really check her out but even from a distance she was a looker. Usually Sam would be balancing an armful of books. Last year his brother had looked toward where Dean was hiding and for a moment he thought Sam had seen him. He’d frozen, thinking _Sammy_. But then Sam turned away and walked toward the large building that Dean knew was the library and Dean left and hadn’t been back yet this year.

Exhausted, he ditched the car near the bus station and waited impatiently for the bus back to Waterloo. Sitting in the back he tried to remember if he’d told the family what precautions to take while he investigated. He must have. It was standard procedure. He’d promised the kid nothing bad would happen. The family needed to salt around Alex’s bed. Dammit, he couldn’t remember if he’d told them this or not.

He pulled out his cell phone and dialed. Charlie sounded surprised to hear from him again so soon.

“Just wanted to check that you were, um, clear with my directions?”

“Yes. Seemed simple enough. Salt around our beds and windows. That all it takes, really?”

Dean exhaled. Okay. He wasn’t totally losing it. “Yes. That will keep you protected until I can find out who’s haunting you and dispose of the remains properly. Then you won’t have any more trouble.” Dean paused. Thought of something. “Doors, too. Be sure to put salt lines at each door. Alex’s room, too.”

“Yes, we did just what you said. We … really appreciate your help. Alex, well, he seemed … calmer after you left … Thank you.”

Dean smiled. There were times he really loved this job. “You’re welcome. I’ll be in touch in a day or so.”

He entered the small house with a light step. Groaned when he looked over at the still bare cupboards and realized he should have stopped for food. Jesus, he was starving.

* * *

The Johnston house had a boring history, which made no sense and made Dean want to kick something. He’d been hoping for easy. Some guy-murdered-in-the-house kind of easy because then he’d be able to find the grave, dig up the bones — salt, burn and done. The message the spirit had left was related to the family being intruders so it had to be linked to the house, didn’t it? Piecing together obscure puzzle pieces were Dad’s and Sam’s strengths, not his. He preferred the endgame, getting it done.

But Dad wasn’t here and Sam … He needed to get this done for that family and quickly because spirits like this only got angrier as time passed. Next logical step was to head to the Town Records Office and see what he could find on the property before this house was built.

Two hours later Dean escalated from wanting to kick something to wanting to punch the closest wall. Nothing. Zilch. Even Sam, the wonder boy of research, couldn’t pull a ghost from that history. It was clean. No ancient burial site. No Native American lore surrounding the area. The property sat as an empty lot for like _ever_. The land nobody wanted and nobody cared about until 1989 when a developer bought it and the neighboring plots up at once and built this row of cookie-cutter houses.

 ** _Dean, didja check out the developer?_** _Yeah, Sam, I’m not an idiot._ Clean records, no citations. All the building inspections in order. **_And the contractor?_** _Yes, the contractor, too …_ Except … **_You got something?_** _Wait. Hold on. Maybe_. The electrical subcontractor. Name on the original plans wasn’t the same as the one on the inspection papers. They switched subs mid job. Now why would they do that? Seems like a time and money waster. He pulled out his notebook to read back through the notes he’d just taken.

Yep, went from Manny Electric to Ryan & Sons. Time to find Manny.

* * *

Father _master_ had not been pleased. Had locked the creature back in the shed and he hated it there because it was dark with nothing to see and he liked seeing the world. He’d been careful and only one boy saw him and he didn’t even scream which made him wonder if he was less _monster_ but he didn’t know, didn’t have a way of seeing himself. He’d asked father _master_ when the man would be back. There’d been no answer at first but then he’d said, soon. This made him glad because the creature needed the man so that he could become _Himself_ and be pretty and never have anyone scream again.

His master returned and opened the little lock and stood in front of him with that look that scared him and he suddenly felt the man’s fear about failing his father _Dad_ in much the same way and thought isn’t it funny that even before the creature became _Himself_ they already shared this.

“Now that you are more … formed … I have food for you. For now it’s not cooked. But later, when you are finished, you will eat only cooked food. Do you understand?”

The creature nodded because he could not yet speak. This would come when he was more complete and then he’d have those pretty lips that the girls loved to kiss and they would lay with him and it would feel good and take the ache away — until it didn’t.

Father _master_ left the trap with the squirrels and the rabbit and walked out giving him another of those looks that made him feel bad _incomplete_ like the man felt when the _empty_ grew too big and the man filled it with girls and cheeseburgers _not that the creature knew what those were_ and something called TV and a sharp liquid that warmed the belly and those memories the creature couldn’t take because they weren’t really there.

The creature now thought he knew what the man needed. There was a boy and he made the empty spot and no matter how many pretty girls, it was still there so they needed that boy. He didn’t know who the boy was yet. Those memories were harder to get at, locked down, almost like the man was fighting to keep those the most. It was much easier to take all the girls.

He didn’t really have teeth so he had to break apart the animals with his hands which were developing quickly and father _master_ was pleased at least about that. But the food was good, especially the rabbit which looked at him with dead eyes as he ripped its head off. This brought up another rabbit from long ago that didn’t move and was soft and slept with the man and _Mommy_ would read a story about the rabbit, but the creature didn’t know yet what stories were or Mommy or reading or why this memory was one that still made the man cry.

There were so many things the creature did not yet know. But his mind was filling. Father _master_ said to be patient that it will come and now that they had started it would happen much faster. He wished he could go to the man’s home and take it all inside right now, at once — not patient. But the creature wasn’t strong enough to do this yet. Soon. A little more time and he would own all the thoughts and the creature would know everything. And the man would know nothing. Which made him a little sad because the man was the only reason he would be able to become _Himself_ after all. But father _master_ said there could be only one.

* * *

Turned out Manny was still alive so he wasn’t the ghost, but Dean dug up an old city housing commission ID of his father’s and reworked it with his photo so he was ready to find out what ol’ Manny knew.

A portly, Hispanic man with that in-charge look approached him as Dean sauntered onto the construction site.

“You Manny?” Dean said holding up the ID. “Davis. Housing commission. Couple questions for you.”

The man looked nervous and Dean’s confidence grew that this was the right track. **_Yeah, but you couldn’t have gotten here without me_.** _Shut up, Sam._

“I wanted to ask you about a house you worked on in the early ‘90s. 1100 Pearl Street in Cedar Falls.”

“That was twenty years ago, man. You gotta be kiddin’.”

“No, I’m not. You weren’t the only electrician to work on that house. Why didn’t you finish the job?”

Manny started squirming. “Look. ‘S not something I publicize, okay. There was an accident. A workman died. Police cleared me and I settled with the man’s family out of court.”

“I’m not trying to reopen anything. Just need to find out what happened. What was the name of the man that died?”

The shorter man eyed him doubtfully. “Rodriguez. Should be in the city records.”

“Of course. Joseph Rodriguez?”

“Michael Rodriguez. What is this?”

“Nothing. Sometimes the records get mixed up. I’m doing some follow up. Seems the current residents want to, um, renovate.” **_Renovate? Lame, Dean._** “Sorry to have bothered you.”

This seemed enough to satisfy Manny. Dean started to walk away. Turned back. “Just one more thing. Where does Mr. Rodriguez’s family live now?”

* * *

Dean knew he could have called the Johnstons. Certainly there was no reason to return yet, but what the heck, it was on the way. Well, fifty miles out of the way, on the way. But he wanted to share the progress he’d made and let them know that by the end of the day tomorrow he felt confident their problem would be over.

Charlie opened the door and gave him a bright smile. “You’re back soon.”

“I have an update for you. Hope you don’t mind my delivering it in person. If this is a bad time—“

“No. Not at all. Come in, please.” He turned around. “Cheryl, Dean’s back.”

Cheryl appeared behind her husband also smiling. They really were the nicest people. As he entered their busy family room Alex ran up to him. “Hey, the Ghostbuster’s back.”

Dean smiled. “At your service.”

“I helped Mom with the salt. We have it everywhere. Every window just like you said.”

Dean nodded approvingly. “That’s good.”

Alex narrowed his eyes and bit his lower lip making Dean wonder what this was about. “Alex, why don’t you show me your precautions. Sounds like you did a super job.”

He looked toward the boy’s parents who nodded yes and followed Alex as he bounded up the stairs two at a time. From behind he looked so much like Sammy that for a moment Dean could have been following his little brother up the stairs at Bobby’s house. In the boy’s bedroom he kneeled down to inspect the salt line and then met the boy’s eyes. “Alex. Did you hear anything else?”

The boy lowered his head and then raised it back to meet Dean’s eyes. “The salt. I think it made him mad.”

“More bad words?”

Alex nodded yes and his eyes were wide, moist.

“Anything else?”

“Said … it wouldn’t matter. The salt. Said he was in the … walls. He used another bad word.”

Dean nodded, not surprised given what he’d just learned. They needed to protect themselves further. Needed … what exactly? Suddenly he realized Alex had left the room. Dean followed him downstairs.

Cheryl looked from him to Alex. “Dean, why not join us for dinner? We have plenty.”

“I couldn’t—“ he started, but Cheryl and then Charlie insisted but it was Alex looking at him with puppy dog eyes that did him in.

The meal was the best he’d eaten in centuries. Roast chicken and mashed potatoes and crisp green beans and as he took his third helping he complimented Cheryl again.

“Nobody really cooks in my family,” he explained.

“Oh, are you married?”

“No. I live with my Dad and little brother.” Something was off and Dean blinked but he couldn’t think what that was so he went on. “We eat out mostly. Diners …”

“And does your father … is he in the same business you are?” Charlie asked.

“Dad, yeah, he’s a hunter.” Dean stopped. He wasn’t supposed to … even with clients you didn’t tell it like it is. Dad would be mad. Sam did this sometimes, told the truth, said he was sick of lying, sick of the job, this life and he wanted to go away. Did Sam go away? No. Sammy wouldn’t leave them. Wouldn’t …

The lights started flickering. Charlie looked around, alarmed and Cheryl said, “Charlie … ?” The lights sizzled out and a figure emerged from the dining room wall. An arc of white light stretched from its hand, zigzagging madly through the air. Alex screamed.

Dean jumped up, knocking over his chair in his panic. “Sammy, you okay?”

A frightened woman’s voice. “Sammy? Who’s Sammy? Dean what do we do now? What’s it want? You said the salt would keep it away … Dean …?”

Dean looked from the scared family to the crackling, glowing thing that was getting closer.

“Get out!” he ordered the parents and the kid. He stood there _was his job, was supposed to_ … But he didn’t know what this was, what it wanted, what was he supposed to do? It moved closer and Dean backed away and a voice was talking to him, deep, rich, telling him about things — monsters, spirits that he was supposed to fight … hunt. The voice was telling him what to do _teaching_ but the knowledge was vanishing … disappearing before he could understand. Alone with the scary, glowing _monster_ he scrunched down on the floor and made himself as small as he could and tried to hide from the terrible lightning.

**Chapter 3**

John Winchester stared into the hazel eyes of his youngest son and fought back down the immediate guilt this brought. Because Dean would want to know him. Would love him. And he could never know.

“I’ll be getting my permit next year,” the boy said excitedly.

“I know it,” John responded. He smiled at the boy as he pulled over on the relatively empty road. “Want to give it a try?”

Adam’s eyes opened so wide John thought they’d pop right out of his head. “Sure. I mean, yessir. Thanks!”

The boy squeezed his long legs beneath the steering wheel and John was instantly taken back to Sammy first squeezing his same long legs into the same driver’s seat, and pushed the memory away.

“Okay, nice and easy,” John coaxed. “She’s responsive. Doesn’t need much g—.” But he was too late as the huge car jerked forward in manic bursts. “Easy,” John repeated and in just a little time Adam got the hang of it and they were riding smoothly down the long, empty blacktop.

The steady rhythm of the tires and the knowledge that here John was _just a dad_ relaxed him enough to let memories slip out. Sitting shotgun, teaching Dean … Not that it had been much of a lesson, Dean was born knowing how to drive. Boy’d gotten behind the wheel, caressed it slightly and put her in drive, gently depressing the gas as if he’d been driving her forever. This car was meant for his first born it seemed. At times it even felt like Dean’d told him to buy her, which was impossible, but it seemed true nonetheless.

Adam proved a quick learner and John had no doubt he’d be getting his license as soon as he turned sixteen next year.

“You won’t tell Mom, will ya?” Adam asked.

John smiled. Another thing he wasn’t allowed to tell Kate. What in hell did she think he did with Adam on his visits? Play with matchbox cars? Adam was a fifteen-year-old boy, for chrissake! John shook his head and said, “If that’s what you want.”

Kid seemed pleased. They drove along in comfortable silence again. Adam maneuvered the big car smoothly around a sharp turn. Sammy had taken longer to learn to drive. All gangly legs and awkward moves. Almost crashed the car into a divider which got John yelling and poor Dean in the back seat trying to calm everyone and boost his brother’s waning confidence until finally John’d just gotten out of the car. Ultimately, Dean taught his brother how to drive.

He looked at Adam sitting next to him and the guilt returned. _I’m sorry, Dean. I know … he’s your family, but I can’t. Gotta keep him out of our lives. Our mess._ It was wrong. He knew this. But John didn’t have a choice. Better to keep the boy separate, so the evil sons of bitches following John and his older sons wouldn’t know _him_. Adam would never know his brothers. But he’d be _safe._

Kate greeted them at the door. She responded to Adam’s huge grin with a look of appreciation at John. With her big blue eyes and trim figure Kate was still an attractive woman. He knew she’d had other men over the years but nobody stuck. He supposed having a son was the reason. Not many men wanted an instant family. He still remembered the shock of hearing her voice mail message three years ago. _John, I have something important to share. Call me, please._ He’d remembered her — one of the few women he’d allowed himself after Mary – but they hadn’t been in touch in years.

January 1990. He’d been on a hunting trip. Dean’d turned eleven, Sammy was seven. John had word of a series of vicious murders. Vampires. He told the boys, well, Dean, the truth most of the time. But this time he thought it best to lie. The fang he’d taken out hadn’t been alone and his mate escaped and caught his scent. Caleb told him that once they latched onto you they’d track you till you were drained or turned.

He’d never felt hunted quite this personally before. Not counting the demon that destroyed his life. So he’d put the boys on a plane to Pastor Jim. Sam was excited to fly, to go somewhere new. Somewhere nice. But Dean was stricken, even though he tried to hide it. He was so much like Mary. His sweet, sensitive little boy that John had to turn into something else. Someone strong. Tough. Able to survive.

The vamp was dangerous. A good hunter herself. A worthy foe. He finally caught back up with her and her new nest in Windom, Minnesota. Except they were waiting for him. Was dumb luck, really, that his boys weren’t orphaned then. _Maybe they’d have been better off._

Caleb had explained about using dead man’s blood and the first arrow was a lucky hit, struck the group’s leader. The shock cascaded through the fangs like a current and slowed them momentarily, confused them. That’s when he’d struck out and the ensuing violence was enough to sicken most people but he’d seen it all by then and was beyond the ability to feel revulsion. The woman fought the hardest, the longest and she closed in so fast his bow was useless.

She cornered him and the red streaming down his forehead blinded him. John knew the lure of his blood was driving her frenzy. As her double row of razor teeth zeroed in on the pulse in his neck he shifted his bow up and plowed the wooden end through her heart, momentarily stunning her. She slid to the floor with a whimper and her venomous eyes damned him as he drew his machete and sliced off her head with one hard strike. It took a moment to realize the manic crazy howl was coming from him, and he collapsed in pain and exhaustion … and shame, because each creature that he killed took more of his humanity and he felt helpless to do anything about it.

In a daze he drove himself to the ER where the staff patched him up while accepting his lame story about a car accident. The friendly eyes and long blonde hair of the nurse _Kate_ reminded him of Mary through the haze of painkillers …

“How long you staying this time, John?” Kate asked quietly when Adam was out of earshot.

“Not sure. Few days. Have to go check in at the motel.” Sometimes she invited him to stay. Not always. Depended on her mood, whether she was dating anyone … truth was, he never knew why.

Her lips curled up in a soft smile. “You could stay here, if you like,” she said after a long moment.

Guess there wasn’t someone else this time. “Well, alright then,” he replied unnecessarily, because he never turned her down.

* * *

The crazy white sparks pinged around the room as Dean shielded himself under the pine table and tried to remember what this was, why he was here. It was wrong. He knew that. Should do something. But his heart raced because he knew _danger_ and felt the white heat of the charges coming nearer, so close the hair on his head was starting to dance and the thing’s _legs?_ kept moving inexorably toward him. It was going to kill him _fry him_ and he was hiding _coward_ but he didn’t know what to do.

Frustrated tears ran down his cheeks as the raw energy drew near, three more steps and it would be on him. **_Dean, the salt. Use the salt_.** The order was soft but urgent. Yes, salt. He shook his head and more images leaked in. A ghost. Spirit. Repelled by … he pulled the edge of the tablecloth and glasses, dishes, food crashed to the floor. Heart pounding he pawed through the jumble still keeping as much of his body under the table as he could. There! His fingers clasped the familiar shape. Trembling fingers pried the salt shaker top off and he risked edging forward until the thing was just inches away and with a surge of strength he’d forgotten he had he threw the salt at the apparition and it vanished in a swirly hiss.

He leaned back against the table legs feeling wired as if the thing had touched him after all. _What the fuck was wrong with him?_ Uncurling from under the table, he went in search of the family now huddled together in the family room.

“ ’S okay now,“ he said, forcing reassurance back into his voice. The world seemed normal again. He knew why he was here and quickly explained about the electrician’s accidental death.

“The man died … here?” Cheryl asked shakily.

“Why’s it so mad?” Alex asked.

Dean knelt down to meet the boy’s eyes. “It’s stuck. Can’t move forward. Angry that he got killed and can’t let go of that. At one time it had a life. Now all it has is the anger.”

“Be better if he just died … I mean … then he coulda went to heaven, right?”

Dean wanted to believe this more than anything. Had wanted to believe this since he was four years old. “Yeah, Alex. I’m gonna help him get there. That’s kinda my job.”

The boy’s eyes widened again and then narrowed slightly as he studied Dean. “Does … everyone go to heaven?”

“I don’t know.”

Alex pondered this. “I hope this ghost gets to go there even though he scared my mom and dad.”

Dean stood up. “Me too, Alex.”

He was about to head out when Alex called out to him again. “Who’s Sammy?”

Dean startled and turned to look at the little boy questioningly.

“You called out his name.”

Cheryl interrupted. “Alex. That’s none of our business. Now quit pestering Dean.”

“No. It’s okay. Sam is my brother. He’s away at Stanford. Prelaw.”

Charlie looked impressed. “Nice. Your dad must be proud.”

 _You walk out that door, don’t you ever come back._ “Yeah. Very proud.” The pause lasted a beat too long. “I’ll call you when I’ve taken care of the ghost.” Dean made an apologetic gesture at the mess on the dining room floor. “I’m sorry about that.”

With a little hitch in her voice Cheryl responded, “Oh, never mind … don’t worry about it.”

Cheryl and Charlie walked him to the door. “We’ll wait for you to call us then.” Walking to the car Dean reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. Bitch of a headache. Call them for what?

* * *

“Sam, hey, it’s me. I don’t know … not sure where you are. Thought maybe you could call, you know, I mean … strange, not sure where you’re at.”

Sam hung up the phone and stared at it. Been a while since he got a Dean drunk dial. For a while there’d been a run of ‘em. Some got real sloppy. That’s when he decided it was best not to call back. Seems like when they spoke it just made it worse.

He put the phone back in the drawer. Wasn’t his everyday cell. That one was new. This one was his last link to his old life _to his family_. Only Dean ever called him on it. The only call he’d ever get from his dad would be the one he’d never be able to answer. Sam shut his eyes a moment, then returned the phone to the drawer and pushed it shut.

“You okay?” Jess asked from the open doorway. She wore a tee-shirt and panties and those too-cute-for-words fuzzy bunny slippers, and thoughts of his brother receded as Sam swallowed her up with his eyes.

“Better now,” he answered honestly.

She came closer and beamed. “I thought I’d go to bed early.”

“I can see that.”

“Wanna join me?”

He kissed her gently but then pulled away with a soft sigh. “I gotta study. Need a few more hours.”

She pouted. “You got one hour, big boy. Then I’m comin’ to find you.”

He smiled at her and went to pick up his law books from the desk. Dean’s odd message replayed in his head. Man, he’d sounded out of it. If Dad caught Dean that plastered he’d pitch a fit. _What the hell, Dean? What are you doing to yourself?_

* * *

The little boy in the haunted house stood in the window and watched the man leave. Father _master_ had made the creature leave earlier because the man was in danger and he knew that if the man died then the creature couldn’t become _Himself_ and that would be bad. The creature knew he wasn’t supposed to have come back but it was only for a little peek. Later they’d go closer father _master_ promised and he’d get more memories of the boy _Sammy_ and eventually he’d have enough to fill the empty and that bad feeling would go away because he didn’t like that one. He liked the other feeling much more with the pretty girls even though that didn’t last but that’s only because the man wasn’t smart enough to just go get the boy and the creature would be smarter once he became _Himself_.

“Come,” Master said.

The creature used its now well formed legs to move away from the house. He thought father _master_ would be angry when he came back for him but there was no yelling like the other father – _How could you leave him alone?! You were supposed to take care of him. I trusted you._ He’d pulled a bunch of memories this time. More than father _master_ realized and he knew he was supposed to go slow, be patient but he was tired of being slow and hated patient because he wanted it all right now and each time he was going to take more until he was pretty and his eyes were green and nobody would scream.

“Be careful,” Master said. “Don’t leak all over. Clean up after yourself.”

He leaned down and picked up the little loose pieces of red clay and patted them back into himself. He wanted to ask if the man would become clay when the creature became _Himself_ but he still couldn’t make words with his mouth although he was getting lips and a tongue and soon the meat would be cooked. Although he didn’t know why this mattered.

In the car he looked out the window at the passing buildings and wondered if they would all be green when he had the man’s eyes. They pulled in front of a small house and father _master_ asked if he could feel the man. He tried to say yes but it came out a grunt and he pulled and felt _Him_ and started taking, picking, choosing … the best stuff was _Sammy_ but that was also the hardest to get, to keep, and so he took only a little. Hazel eyes following him around wherever he went and worshipping him because he was older smarter wiser … but _fear_ … petrifying paralyzing hateful that something was coming, would hurt Sammy would kill him and Dad is there and he shoots and looks back at him and he’s so ashamed.

The creature shuddered in the car and father _master_ asked almost kindly if he was okay and he grunted but there were other memories and he pulled another thread and it’s good about _baby_ , the car, and the man was driving and the music was playing and it hummed and vibrated under his thighs and it was like a pretty girl only not and it filled him, soothed him and the pain _the empty_ disappeared again for a bit. And then Sammy was there, too, laughing and they were alone _no Dad_ and the wind kissed their faces and the younger one cackled like a girl but it was better _never admit this_ because his heart was dancing and full and it lasted and lasted and lasted.

“I think you’ve taken enough for one night. We’ll be back tomorrow.”

He grunted and it came out _mrrr_ and the Master looked at him in surprise and he wondered if he should be quiet, not speak, because then the Master would say be patient and go slow and they wouldn’t come back. He looked again at the person driving them away. Not father. Master. Father was someone else now. _Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir. You’re right, sir. Go easy on him, sir. He’s just a kid, sir. I’ll try harder, sir._ The man believed his father loved him. And soon they would be together and the creature would make him happy and never talk about the boy because that caused _the face_ and the face was bad, and it hurt.

* * *

Kate didn’t look like Mary. Not really. Except for maybe the length and color of her hair. But in the dark, eyes shut, it was enough and John could pretend for just a little bit. She was quiet and efficient, the nurse in her coming through even as she made love. Mary had been quiet but her silence told him everything. He heard her with every breath she took. Sometimes he was able to hear her in Sam’s laugh and Dean’s eyes. Boy told him everything with those eyes. Didn’t need words. Just like Mary.

He turned over in the bed. Kate wasn’t clingy when she was asleep, which was good because John wouldn’t have been able to stay if she was. He’d hadn’t hugged any of the women he’d slept with after Mary. Couldn’t. Felt too wrong.

Boys used to let him hug them all the time. Then as they got older he’d get the drawn out “Daaad” when he pulled one of ’em up to him. Sam didn’t so much outgrow hugging as outgrow _him_. Not just physically. John knew his friends, what few he had who still spoke to him, thought he was too hard on Sam. Thought Stanford was a good thing. He sighed. Maybe it was. Three years in, truth was he’d softened on it considerably. Seemed like Sam was fine. Safe. Maybe it was like Adam. If John kept away most of the time. Kept his life, his demons, away. Then Sam would be safe.

A pang of guilt struck him again about Dean. His good soldier. He loved the boy more than Dean would ever know. Sometimes he thought more than anything, or anyone, _god help him_ , because Dean was so much like Mary. Yes, his son was a trained, fierce and smart warrior. Yet no matter how much John had hardened him, Dean still had Mary’s heart.

When he got back to Waterloo maybe they’d head west. Check on Sammy. Been a while. But he’d spend a few days more here. Dean could use the rest. He smiled thinking of that pretty waitress, and doubted his son was sleeping much.

* * *

Dean was dreaming of something staring at him. It had a wide, strange head that seemed to flake dirt, and pits where eyes should be. Full lips were just starting to form and opened and closed like a fish blowing kisses. The man-shape just stood there and stared at Dean, its form solidifying, the flakes diminishing and it _he_ seemed to be growing skin like a snake shedding in reverse. Fingers moved to the face and turned those full lips into a smile and the thing said _We are pretty_ in a voice like mud dripping over rocks.

Dean jerked awake to the shrill of the phone on the nightstand. “ ’M’lo?”

“Dean?!”

“Yeah?”

“It’s back! Rodriguez. The ghost, it’s back. We don’t–Oh god. Please come, you have to help …”

“What?”

“Please … he has Alex … trapped. You have to come. Now.”

Dean jumped up, heart racing. Rodriguez. He was supposed to salt and burn, but he hadn’t, didn’t … and now. Crap. “I’ll be there. Stay behind the salt lines. And if you have anything made of iron, grab it, it’ll repel the spirit. Stay calm. I’ll be right there.”

**Chapter 4**

Dean leapt out of his newest vehicle, some crappy foreign tin trap that he’d taken from a street near his house. He hoped to hell nobody would miss it tonight. Did the owner a favor, really. Although it had gotten him here quick enough. With the sawed-off in his hand he raced to the Johnston’s front door. Knocked hard twice and then tried the door. It opened easily and he slipped inside. He hoped there weren’t any nosy neighbors looking out any windows. This didn’t look too kosher.

“Charlie! Cheryl! You okay?!”

“Dean! Upstairs … it’s got Alex!”

He bounded up the steps, then faltered at the top. Where? Which way? He raced right and saw Charlie beside an open doorway, panic etched on his frozen face.

“Thank god you’re here! It’s in there with Alex. There’s salt around the bed and so far it’s holding but you have to do something!”

Dean peered into the bedroom. Alex sat in the middle of his twin bed, hugging a shabby stuffed bear tightly to his chest. The air around him crackled and burst into white flashes, a dozen sparklers flashing at once. Dean lifted his shotgun.

Cheryl screamed and pushed it down, “What are you doing?! You’ll hurt Alex.”

Dean stopped, looked at her puzzled, stared down at the weapon in his hands. Of course, he couldn’t shoot into the room. What was he thinking? Why did he even have this … thing? And what was in the room with Sammy?

“Sammy,” he shouted. “Stay low and hang on, I’ll come get you.”

“It’s Alex. My son, Alex. Dean?”

Dean shook his head. Yes. Not Sammy. Alex. Clients. He looked at the shotgun. How could it help? “Yeah,” he mumbled.

He dropped the weapon because he didn’t have time to figure out what he didn’t know. Had to save the boy. Get him out of the room. He jumped over the salt line. The sparks grew in intensity and jumped at him in molten-like daggers, but he dodged, reached the boy and grabbed him up to his chest.

“Ready, Sam?” he asked as he measured the distance to the door. There were two strangers standing in the doorway. Dean barely saw them, his attention arrested by the _thing_ in the room with them. What the hell? Looked like a ghost for chrissake! Ghosts were real?

“I’m Alex,” the boy said. Dean blinked and looked down. Of course. Not Sam. Too young. But where was Sam?

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Hold on tight, I’m gonna make a run for it.”

He had reached the doorway when a flash hit his leg, shot sharply down to his foot and a white-hot stab contracted his muscles. He stumbled, tossed the boy toward the waiting couple as his leg seized up and he hit ground with a thud. Air was momentarily knocked out of him but arms yanked him hard out the doorway and yelled at him to get up.

Alex squirmed out of his mother’s grip and pulled on his shirt sleeve frantically. “Now, we have to run.”

He flinched at the pain in his leg as he staggered after the family. _Think_ , he shouted to himself. But cotton was smothering all thought. They stopped in a kitchen and Charlie poured more salt at the doorway and windows. The mother held Alex tight to her.

Dean assessed the family before him and knew he was supposed to be in charge, was supposed to be helping them. They looked at him as if he knew what to do. All he did know was that chunks of himself seemed to be missing. The biggest of which was, where was Sam?

He pulled out his cell and without looking at the Johnstons found his brother in Contacts – good thing he was there because he’d be damned if he could recall any phone numbers – and pressed ‘dial.’

Voice mail picked up.

“Sam! Where are you?! Um, look there’s this … I think it’s a ghost, don’t know … ghost, I mean, crazy, right? But I forget … Sammy, I don’t know where you … Maybe you can come? … I’m at …“ Dean stared at the Johnstons.

Cheryl repeated their address and Dean tacked it on before hanging up.

“You said your brother was in school.”

School? Yeah. That’s it. He must be in school. But he’d come, right? Sam’d come and he’d know what to do because Sammy was smart. Dean’s head pounded. Stuff was flickering in his mind, as if the thing, the ghost, was in his head, making it tingle. He kept seeing things — monsters and creatures and knives and rooms and Sam. Hurt, bleeding, laughing, coughing, playing, running, giggling, screaming, angry, holding, hot, crying … and his own eyes burned with pain because … _no_ … Images flying by like a video on fast forward and it was there and then vanished and behind it was only white, misty, vaporous … fading …

“Dean. Dean … are you okay?”

He looked up at the strange woman before him. Felt tears well in his eyes. “No,” he said brokenly. “I … I’m not.”

* * *

Sam was up late. What else was new? He rubbed his eyes and shut the law book. Jess had gone to bed hours ago. She worked for her grades but not like him. He couldn’t lose his scholarship. And while his tuition was paid he still had to juggle odd jobs to be able to live. It was all he could do to just keep it together, and sometimes he wondered if it was worth it. But then there’d be Jess – and the safety, the ordinary wonderful that she, that school, represented. It made his answer a resounding yes. Putting the books back on his desk he heard buzzing from inside the drawer.

 _Oh for heaven’s sake, Dean, not again_. Given the time – late no matter where his brother was – it could only mean another drunk dial. Ugh. He flipped open the phone to check. Yep. Dean. He thought about forgetting about it till morning. He was so tired. Stared a while longer at the phone before he reluctantly dialed his voicemail.

His heart was racing before the message ended. Dean didn’t sound drunk. He sounded scared. Shitting bricks scared. And … confused? As if he’d struck his head hard. Why’d Dean call him and not Dad? It sounded like he really didn’t know that Sam was in California. God, how hard had his brother been hit? For a moment Sam couldn’t breathe. His instinct was to start driving, go to Dean … but where? That address could be anywhere in the country. Where would he go?

He pressed Dean’s speed dial number. It went straight to voice mail. Damn. He snapped the little phone shut, not bothering to leave a message, clenched it in his fist. He’d sworn he’d never dial this other number even if his own life depended on it. Except it wasn’t his life. And if he did nothing and something happened to Dean … this was a thought he could not finish.

He dialed, waited, listened to the clipped voice mail message. _Be near wherever in hell Dean is … please._

“Dad, it’s me. Everything’s okay. I mean, I’m fine. But … do you know where Dean is because I think … he left me this message and he sounded hurt, like he’d hit his head or somethin’. All confused. Asked where I was, anyway, he said he’s at 1100 Pearl Street. Don’t know more than that. Sure hope you do. Well, okay, um, that’s all. Tell Dean … never mind. Um, bye.”

* * *

Oh there were so many lovely memory strings this time. Dozens, hundreds … and always, in the center, the boy, sometimes almost a man … tall and thin and bursting with nervous energy. Perpetually twitching like something was crawling under his skin. Looking to run. To leave. The intensity, how did the man take it? Absorbing this was almost too much to bear. Every scrape, every tear, every quake of the boy’s voice skewered his newly forming heart like a spike. The creature didn’t, couldn’t, know what this was, only that the man felt it with everything that he was.

Because he liked the man, the creature repeatedly took the last one first. Had to take it every time because it kept slipping back to the man. The boy/man was leaving. There was so much yelling, so much anger. _Dad_ shook with it, trembling with sharp, stunted breaths. And Sam stood tall, firm, tight … not letting his face show the pain, but the man saw his brother’s eyes and knew. The creature didn’t know what _brother_ meant only that feelings toward the boy were at the core of who he would become. That last moment, Sam never looked at the man. Not once. Hazel eyes trained on Dad, shut for a moment … his shoulders shook and his chest rose, then fell. Eyes down _Sam, Sammy no_ the boy lifted his bag, walked out the door and shut it quietly behind him. Was quiet like a period while inside the man exclamation points exploded like fireworks.

The man turned his green eyes toward Dad. But Dad wouldn’t look at him either. Too caught up in his own anger or worry or selfishness to acknowledge that the man was even there. He walked to the door and ran out and stood stock still, mouth ready to yell, to shout, to beg ... but nothing came out. Sam was almost to the next block, growing smaller and more distant. _You didn’t even say goodbye, dude_. The tears fell into the silence, hot and stinging until even the speck that was Sam was gone. He wanted to run, felt the vibration whisk through his muscles as if he’d already started, wanted to feel nothing but soothing air and pounding steps, just go, escape to where the monsters didn’t live, wouldn’t tear the man apart again and again. But the man didn’t move. Never left. Turned the door knob slowly, took the three steps back inside to where the father stood unmoving. The older man looked up as the door opened, turning away just as quickly. _I’m the one who stays_ the man silently wailed at Dad’s quickly dashed hope. But Dad didn’t see him, never looked back.

* * *

Kate snored softly but that didn’t wake John up. He didn’t know why it was that he never slept through the night, just that it was that way. Couldn’t even blame the demon for that one. Nope, was that way for as long as he remembered. Was why he was downstairs watching television when … But now, here, wasn’t the time to recall that. Rising from the bed he threw on a robe that Kate had for his visits. He didn’t know where it came from originally. Some long-lost lover he supposed, not really caring. You had to care in order to feel jealous and he didn’t have those kinds of feelings for her. Only love he had left was for his boys. Three of them.

He stepped into the hallway and stopped at Adam’s door. After a long moment he opened it gingerly. The boy was too long for his bed. So much like Sammy it made his heart twist. Adam was tangled up in the sheet and blanket as if he’d been through the spin cycle together with the linen. John ached to straighten it all up again but he didn’t want to wake Adam. Instead, he silently stood over the boy and watched him sleep, like he used to do with Dean and Sammy.

Neither of his boys slept this peacefully he thought with a pang. The sleep of complete innocence. He thought back to _Before_. Dean’d been three and they’d bought him his big boy bed and he’d jumped into it that first night so proud to no longer be in a crib. He’d squirmed and squeezed his stuffed rabbit and asked for extra hugs and kisses at least three times before finally burrowing into his new pillow and shutting his eyes. So innocent. An angel, Mary’d said, wiping at a stray tear. The angels were looking over him.

A soft voice in the doorway startled John. He turned to see Kate holding something in her hand.

“John? I noticed your phone blinking. Looks like you have a message. Late for someone to call so I thought—“

John thanked her and walked downstairs. He stared at the caller ID until he remembered how to breathe. Dialing quickly he gripped the phone tight as the message played — the words registered in staggered bits until he clicked the phone shut and held onto the wall to steady himself. _Sam_. He hadn’t heard from him in three years. And he’d never call unless he was really frightened for his brother. He pressed Dean’s speed dial. Voice mail.

“Dean? Call me as soon as you can.”

He looked around. The only computer was in Adam’s room. He raced back upstairs ignoring Kate’s worried look. Adam never stirred as the PC came on and John quickly researched the address Sam’d given him. Was only one match within a sixty-mile radius of their place in Iowa. Gut telling him he needed to fly, John permitted himself one last look at the downy cheeks of his third boy. _Be safe, son._

Telling Kate only that something urgent had come up he was dressed and in his car before she was able to say more than how much his not saying goodbye would hurt Adam. He paused a moment at her words but then floored the gas without looking back.

* * *

The ghost vanished and hadn’t yet reappeared. Dean hoped this reprieve would let him think. Why was everything so hard? Why didn’t he know anything? Where was Sam? He retrieved his cell phone out of his pocket again. No signal. Maybe the extra juice this thing was letting off was disrupting things? He didn’t know. His new normal he thought wryly. Actually he was starting to feel a little better, less muddled. Not that he knew why or what the hell was happening to him or why ghosts were freakin’ real! But the headache was gone and something felt … lighter. Like someone took away a weight he’d been carrying.

The family stared at him worriedly. The Johnstons. Yes. And he was helping them with this ghost because ghosts were real and he and his father and his brother fought them. He remembered the shotgun suddenly. Loaded with rock salt! Damn, where’d he drop it? He went toward the doorway when Alex pulled his arm suddenly.

“You can’t go out there. It’ll get you.”

“No Sammy, it’ll be okay. I just need to get … to get my …”

The boy looked at him. “I’m Alex. I’m not your brother.”

Why was this strange little boy staring at him like that? Who were these people?

The woman pulled her son back to her. “Dean, your brother, Sam. You keep calling Alex that. Does your brother look like Alex?”

“I don’t know where he … who are—?”

They all jerked as they heard the crackling ride the wiring behind the walls.

“Oh god,” the man said. “It’s back.”

**  
**

**Chapter 5**

Dean looked around frantically. It would materialize soon. He needed to get everyone to a safe place. There was a door behind the man.

“Where’s that lead?”

The man turned around. “The basement. Should we go—“

But Dean was already pulling the door open and shepherding the family downstairs. Electricity. This thing was acting like a lightning machine. Think. He knew what to do. The deeper he went the easier things got. Like the fog in his mind was lifting. The dank basement air should have stifled but it helped. Although his head felt like a sponge with pieces missing. And someone _something_ was squeezing and the liquid was flowing through, out, like a sieve and it hurt.

Suddenly Dean had only one thought. “Dad!”

Charlie said, “What?”

Dean was fishing for his cell phone again. “I need to call my dad. I don’t know, I didn’t think before … don’t know why. I need my dad. He’ll know what to do.”

But the cell still had no signal and Dean stared at it _what do I do now, Dad?_ before putting it back. They heard the crackling pops again and Rodriguez materialized. He wore blue jeans, a black tee-shirt and black workman boots. His hair was raised and messy and in the center of his chest was a big black hole. Alex yelped and hid behind his mother. Charlie moved in front of both of them shielding them best he could.

Instinctively, Dean pressed the family behind him, against a wall . “Don’t touch anything wet.” He scanned the room for anything useful.

The ghost eased slowly in and out of phase in front of them, shooting them a big toothed grin totally incongruous with his venomous words. “You fucking homeowners are all the same. Gotta have your damn house cheap. Don’t care who you hurt. I’m gonna teach you mutherfuckers what’s what.”

Cheryl started to cry and Charlie held her and Alex close. Dean needed to steer this thing’s attention away from this family. He stepped away from them.

“Yo. Sparky. Nobody gives a shit about your sob story, you know that? So you got too close to a wire and fried. Well don’t go cryin’ over your workman’s comp to me. Hell everyone gets hurt on the job. Me? Happens all the damn time. Don’t see me whining like a girl, do ya?”

The ghost’s dark eyes flashed fire before cutting loose with a sharp white cracking beam. Dean whipped himself out of the way as the spark’s sizzle singed his shirt. Damn, that was close. But he felt alive, sharp, stuff was missing but other things were there. He pulled the knowledge into himself like a blanket. Stay, he willed. He spotted a length of pipe near his leg. Copper. Wouldn’t dissipate the spirit … but …

Rodriguez was shooting bolts now like a character in a sci-fi flick. Dean skinned off his torn shirt and wrapped it around the pipe’s center as many times as he could. It was thick flannel, he prayed it would be enough. From across the room Alex shouted, “Watch out!” as another lightning streak flicked by him. He moved the pipe quickly out of the way. Not yet, needed to get ghostboy to the other side of the basement.

It was playing with him. Enraged. Dean’s taunts were meant to make it follow him.

“So were you drinkin’? That it? One too many brews at lunch?”

Jagged deadly bolts zipped by so close the hair on his arms stood up. Dean glanced over to the water pipe buried into the concrete floor. Electricity. Earth. Might work. He stepped closer to the water pipe, held the loose copper one in his hand like a javelin. It happened quick. He ducked another lethal discharge and thrust at the spirit with one end of the pipe, simultaneously bringing the other end into contact with the grounded pipe. In a split second there was one huge spark, his hand burned and then Rodriguez stood there – powerless and stunned.

“Lights out A-hole,” Dean laughed. “Not so tough without your power rays are ya?”

Rodriguez vanished.

Alex squealed, “That was so cool!”

Charlie patted his boy’s head. “Was pretty impressive. Drained his charge.”

Dean smiled but it didn’t last long. Until the salt and burn was done Rodriguez would be back.

A deep voice from above startled everyone. “Dean! Dean, you here?”

“Dad! In the basement.”

John appeared on the stairs. He stopped upon seeing Dean standing, unharmed with the family around him, stepped back aside to let them come up.

Dean led the family back upstairs to the kitchen. Waited until he could get his father aside. “How’d you find me? I tried to call but there was no signal.”

John looked at him a moment. Said nothing, just placed his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “You okay?”

Dean blinked. Rubbed his eyes. “Yeah … I … here …” he pulled his notebook out of his back pocket. “Gotta burn …”

John took the notebook and read through Dean’s notes silently. They were clear and John knew what they needed to do. He turned toward the Johnstons. “Do you have somewhere you can go for several hours? Once we take care of the remains it’ll be safe to return. We’ll call you.”

Charlie eyed him curiously. John put out his hand. “John Winchester.”

The other man returned his grip. Nodded. “Sure. I mean, we’ll head to Alex’s grandparents. Can’t stay … here. Your son he … saved Alex. Thank you.”

John said nothing and looked back at Dean.

They walked out together and stood in front of Charlie’s home a moment. “Dean. What’s going on? You don’t seem—“

“Where’s Sam?”

“Sam’s in school. Dean?”

Dean shook his head. “ ‘Course. School. Always liked school. Not me. Sammy.”

“Let’s get out of here and take care of Mr. Rodriguez.” John led Dean to the Impala.

His father stopped a minute examining something soft and squishy under his shoe. “Oh crap,” he uttered sliding his foot up. But it wasn’t dog shit, just a reddish dirt. He wiped it on the curb before getting behind the wheel. Dean sat in the passenger seat and watched his father. Old man seemed tired, older somehow. He turned around to say something to Sammy but his brother wasn’t there.

* * *

The Master was very pleased. Said the first part went well although he wouldn’t have minded if Dean’d been injured more. The creature knew the man’s name now … Dean … it would soon be his own name. He studied it and twirled it around his new tongue. _Dn_. Easy. Easier than the other name with that hissing noise in front that was very hard to say. Still the boy would be happy to see him because he’d be his brother. Not clear yet on what that meant only that the man … Dean … thought it meant everything.

He’d gotten stymied at the end when Dean had suddenly disappeared. He couldn’t reach him. Like he was protected behind a huge wall. The creature hated when the connection was severed. When they were together he experienced so many things, flooding his senses at once like the most incredible dream – many dreams – all happening at once. He knew what dreams were. He shared them with Dean. There were some with the pretty girls. Many about monsters but they never bothered the creature. Didn’t bother Dean much either, he seemed to always win. The ones where he didn’t win weren’t about Dean. They were about Sam. He didn’t like those. Made his new heart feel like it stopped working.

“Go … Dn?” the creature asked his Master.

The Master turned to him, still surprised at the creature’s newfound speech. “Yes. We are going to our new home now. Near where they live. You will take a little more each night until he has nothing left. Then John will know what it’s like to lose a son.”

“F’ther,” the creature said. Another very hard word. But he was getting better each time he tried.

“Yes. I guess I am like your father. But you will continue to call me Master. And when the time comes we will kill John. And he will stare into his own boy’s eyes as he takes his last breath at his son’s hands.”

* * *

Dean felt considerably clearer as he dug up the dirt in the small cemetery on the other side of town from where the Johnstons lived. Dad hadn’t said much. Never told him why he was here. Dean must have called him and just didn’t remember. They usually shared information about the cases they worked on. No other explanation. After being asked repeatedly, Dad told him Sam was away at school. Stanford University in California. His little brother was in college? When did this happen?

He sensed his father’s concern each time he looked up from digging and caught the older man’s dark eyes peering at him. Dad had asked him how long he’d been forgetting things and Dean’d laughed and said he didn’t remember. Dad didn’t laugh back. Maybe it wasn’t funny but Dean didn’t know what else to say.

They silently pried open the coffin and salted poor Rodriguez’s bones.

“Rest,” his father uttered before dropping the match.

“Ghosts are real,” Dean said. It wasn’t a question but his father stared at him.

“Dean. Something’s wrong. Don’t know what yet, son, but we’ll figure it out, okay? Don’t you worry. I’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah Dad, sure. Now I know what to do. Salt. Iron. Burn the bones. Won’t happen again, sir.”

His father turned those dark eyes on him again. Squeezed his arm a moment before pulling out his cell phone to alert the Johnstons that their nightmare was over.

Back in the house John insisted that Dean eat some soup they’d picked up on the way back. “Not sick,” Dean complained. “Rather have a burger.”

But Dad was intractable and Dean downed the chicken soup hoping to wipe some of the worry out of his father’s eyes. In the cemetery, the car, Dean’d felt pretty good. No headache and the fuzziness was tolerable. Almost as if his brain was rerouting around the strange holes and trying to fill in the gaps. Now though, his head was hurting again and he took a couple of Tylenol and told his father he was going to lie down. This earned him another piercing stare but Dad only said, “Good idea.”

He didn’t think he’d fall asleep but found himself dreaming almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. He was being followed. He heard these clunky steps but each time he turned around there was no one there. Just these footprints that glowed a rusty red in the moonlight. In the distance was his life – pieces of it, playing like a movie and the more he watched, the more it slipped past, scene to scene. There was no particular order, the bits random and indiscriminate, and something sliced through his life like a scalpel.

Some things he didn’t care about. Wendigos and spirit walkers and werewolves and baykoks and ghouls and vengeful spirits and demons. Black-eyed, soulless. It … the thing behind him wasn’t frightened of these things. It swallowed them up like a child would candy. Was familiar. Safe. Dean gave these away. It could have ‘em. Didn’t care.

Then the thing came for Sam.

Dean turned to face the darkness, “No! Get away.”

The shadow taunted him and sang, “Pretty little boy. Will get all the pretty little girls instead.”

Dean turned around and the girls were there. Shimmering and smiling and flirting. Eye lashes batting and breasts in his face and the teacher squeezing his ass _wrong_ and tongues twirling in his mouth, seeking, biting, nipping. It wanted this … them. He saw Cassie. No. _Don’t_ … dark eyes and skin and hands soft, inviting and his heart … pounding when she smiled. He hid, had to — couldn’t tell, but she made him soft and finally he burst, naked, exposed … _please_ … and she looked at him and shut her eyes. Too ugly. It flinched, the thing, didn’t want this either Dean realized … Sorry, bud … good with the bad, he thought, but really _no_. He was keeping this – his hurt, his pain. But it pulled and tugged, dug deeper, tore … and Cassie faded like a photo left too long in the sun and was … gone.

“Dean … Dean, wake up.”

Dean sat up with a start. “Dad?”

“You were dreaming. Shouting out the name, Cassie.”

“Who?”

John shrugged, didn’t sound familiar. Dean laid back down. Still tired. “Just wanna rest a little m’re.”

* * *

“Bobby. It’s John.” The silence made John wonder if Bobby was still pissed.

Finally the older hunter replied, “John.”

“Yeah. Look. Sorry ‘bout … Said some things I shouldn’t have last time.”

“ ‘S okay. What’s up?”

“It’s Dean. He’s acting strange.” At the slight chuckle, John added, “Strange even for Dean. Keeps forgetting things. Didn’t remember Sam’s away at school. Forgot … didn’t know ghosts were real.”

Bobby was silent a moment. “Did he hurt his head?”

“No. I looked him over carefully after our last hunt. It was rough. Bruises. A nasty cut. But his head was fine. I was away a few days and … when I got back Dean was all confused. Came out of nowhere. He was on this case. Didn’t know what to do.”

“Well I ain’t no doctor but memory loss like that … you should take him to a doctor. A neurologist.”

A neurologist? Christ, where was John going to come up with the money for a high-class specialist like that?

“Bobby … you don’t think … could it be anything supernatural hurting Dean?”

“Anything’s possible but memory loss ain’t a typical sign. Gotta get the boy checked out, John.”

John mumbled, “Yeah.”

Bobby came back, “Tell me about this case Dean was on.”

“Haunted house. Contractor got killed during the construction. Dean did the research but then never followed up. Never burned the remains. Not like Dean. I found him in the house battling this thing. No shotgun, no iron, nothing.”

“How’d he find this case?”

“He didn’t know. But I checked his notes and these people were friends of someone named Barrister who supposedly I did a job for years back. Except I don’t remember him.”

Bobby was silent again. “Don’t sound familiar. But John. The case is probably a coincidence to whatever’s goin’ on. Don’t go taking chances.”

John’s anger flared, “I don’t take chances with my sons.”

He heard a huffing sound, like Bobby was taking a deep breath. “Right. Look, this ain’t about you. Get the boy to a doctor.”

Bobby hung up.

John stared at the phone for a long time before returning to Dean’s bedroom. His son seemed peaceful again. He touched his son’s golden hair before turning silently to leave, keeping the door part-way open. Something felt wrong, it burned deep inside but damned if he knew what it was.

**Chapter 6**

The creature snuck out of the small apartment and made his way silently up the street. He knew the way, had visualized every turn the Master had taken. He hadn’t been told specifically to not leave so he was able to do this. But he knew this wasn’t really what the Master wanted. Master’d been clear that the process had to go slow or it wouldn’t work right. But the creature didn’t understand this. The memories came to him. Some slipped back but if he came and got them again wouldn’t that make it alright? He didn’t know what permanent meant exactly. Only that the Master was concerned because he said it took a while to get there. That certain memories would have to be taken again and again before they’d be really his.

This didn’t make sense with the other order to stay away and only go once a day. What did it mean damage the connection? Hurt Dean? He didn’t want to do that. Wanted to be pretty like Dean. Have the girls. And then go find the boy that was more than the girls and be complete. The memories with the boy _Sammy_ had started slipping again. They only stayed like shadows in his mind. But he knew what to look for when he returned.

And, of course, Dean was fighting to keep the boy. He’d never felt resistance before like when he went after Sammy. Dean’s grip on them was so hard he moved away from those. For now. In the end, he had to have them. They mattered the most. They had to be his in order to become _Himself_. His brother _what a strange word_ touched every fiber of Dean’s mind.

The house stood across the street. Small. Shabby. Dark. The creature felt Dean sleeping. Knew the father _Dad_ was in there, too, but he couldn’t feel him. There were many memories of Dad. He thought maybe he’d try for some of those next. Easier than trying to wrestle for the boy. Would wait till he was stronger before he tried again for those.

He didn’t need to connect via a dream but it was so much easier. Harder when Dean was awake. Asleep the mind was wide open to him. Dean couldn’t hide. He reached out and wafted in slowly. No need to jar. Better to be soft, gentle … earn his trust. He liked Dean. Had to. Was going to be him after all. He looked around for the father. Big, strong, protective – eyes that captured, held, menaced. _Yes, sir_. The man broached no dissension. Rather like the Master the creature realized.

The father was holding a bottle to his lips. Amber. Dean watched him warily and stepped back. The man was not yet a man — young, a small little thing with blonde hair and tremendous eyes. The big man drank and his eyes leaked and he reached out for Dean who hesitated and approached the father. Then _Daddy_ grabbed him and held Dean tight and said the name _Mary_ into his ear and _why?_ and _oh god, what was he going to do?_

Baby Sammy cried out then — small wails growing ever louder – piercing, and Daddy did nothing, just crushed Dean tighter, squeezing until his bones hurt and he heard his baby brother and started to wriggle, strained to get out, to go to him but he wasn’t strong enough. Until finally his own eyes started to leak as well and he made a sound like a baby seal and Daddy released him so sudden he almost fell, but he didn’t fall – he turned quickly and ran to the crib and climbed on a chair to peer inside and his brother’s wet eyes turned to him and his chubby face lit up and he stopped crying.

The resistance started as soon as those baby’s eyes met Dean’s. The man fought hard against the creature shouting, screaming … he grabbed his baby brother and held him. He was big again, not small. Adult, like he was now, and he faced the creature head on and said _You go near my brother again and I’ll tear your fucking head off._ The creature blinked his newly forming eyes. Not yet pretty. Not yet green. And disappeared back into the night thinking maybe the Master was right. Too much and Dean got stronger somehow. It made no sense but he couldn’t deny what had happened. He flexed his new thoughts around. Not a total loss. He got to keep everything before baby Sammy came into view.

* * *

“Dad … I … what do you think is happening?”

John looked up. “Don’t know. But I’m going to get us some insurance cards and we’ll get you to a doctor and check it out. Pro’bly nothing. You forgetting anything else?”

Dean gave his father a _duh_ look. “I wouldn’t know, would I?” This came out harsher than he’d intended and his father’s slight flinch sliced through him. “Sorry, sir. I mean it feels like things are missing. Can’t describe it. Like a sponge with chunks missing, holes. I know only that I’m supposed to know things.”

“Like your brother being in Stanford?”

“Yeah. I don’t remember him leaving. But I remember calling him, us talking …” He didn’t finish. It wasn’t a conversation he was comfortable sharing with his father. He ran a hand through his hair. He’d forgotten a ton of things relating to hunting. His father had tried filling him back in and he’d been taking notes like a schoolboy but this wasn’t … what was he supposed to do if he couldn’t hunt? Couldn’t stay with his dad?

He walked toward the window, peered out. The newspaper sat on the sidewalk in front of the house. Telling his father he’d be right back he walked out to get it. Picking it up he shook some red dirt loose and touched it a moment in his hand. It was … familiar. But that was ridiculous and probably just another remnant of whatever in hell was wrong with him and he shook it off and returned inside.

Dropping the paper on the table Dean leafed through his journal, pages of new notes he’d taken on various creatures and how to kill them. “What if … what if I forget all this again? I’d be a liability. Wouldn’t have your back.”

“Dean. Stop. You’re jumping ahead of yourself. Maybe it’s nothing more than stress. Happens. Let’s see what’s what and then take it from there. Like we always do.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean said sitting down again and rereading the journal. He had to remember. Had to stay sharp, help his father. Be useful. Or maybe the next time Dad left, he wouldn’t bother coming back.

* * *

John called the insurance company holding the newly reinstated insurance card of a Mr. Robert Harrison. Once you had a social security number the rest was easy. He asked his questions and was pleased to hear that specialists were covered, including neurologists if so ordered by the primary care physician. So they’d hit the family doctor first and if anything further was necessary they’d at least be covered. Was a relief.

Dean sat scrunched over his journal. Every inch of every page was covered in his son’s messy scrawl. Notes in the margins, up the sides, sideways and straight. He’d pumped him for information for hours. John’d tried to hide his shock over the things Dean didn’t know. Things his son had known all his life – it seemed like his entire life was new to him. Three days had passed and they’d had to cover the same ground many times.

His son looked up suddenly as if he knew John was looking. “Dad?” he said a bit hesitantly.

“Yeah?”

“I know I should know this. I’m sorry, sir, to have to ask again …”

“It’s okay. Just ask.”

“How … how did Mom die?”

John’s heart skipped a beat. Third time in as many days that Dean’d asked him this. He didn’t know how much more he could take. Answering it just seemed to tear what was left of John’s soul further apart.

“A fire, Dean. A fire in your brother’s nursery.”

Green eyes met his growing wide as they did each time they replayed this conversation. John waited. Drew in a breath to face the next inevitable question.

“Sammy … he wasn’t hurt, was he?”

“No. We took him out. You carried him out. Kept your brother safe.”

Relief flooded his son’s face. Mary’s eyes stared back at him. “Where is Sam now?”

Again. Always this question. _Where is Sam?_ John breathed in deep again. “Sam’s in school. Stanford University.”

Dean narrowed his eyes, then nodded and grinned slightly. “Sam’s always so smart. You must have been proud.” He looked down. “Guess I turned out … can’t even hunt now, keep forgetting things. Useless.” This last was a mere mumble.

Bobby’s words from long ago rang in John’s ears. “He’s not one of your grunts, dammit. Not a soldier. Deserves a life. His. Not yours.”

John’d gotten angry. Turned on the older hunter with unrepentant venom. He was raising his son to survive. Who cared about anything else? What the hell else mattered? Only now Dean couldn’t meet his eyes and didn’t understand …

“Dean. You’re not useless.” John didn’t know what to say. “You’re … my son.”

“Don’t want to let you down, sir,” Dean said, finally looking back up.

“You don’t. You couldn’t.” John never was much for words. But this time he needed them and they were failing him in an unprecedented manner. He felt a tight, hot sting behind his eyes.

Dean blinked again and suddenly grabbed his head. “Hurts,” he murmured. He shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Worse …”

John rose and went for more Tylenol. A pitiful answer. God, what was this? As soon as Dean was calmer he was making an appointment for the checkup.

His son swallowed the pills silently and slowly turned back to face him. His face seemed still, preternaturally calm. But then he shook slightly and looked around, first slowly, then growing more frantic. “Dad?!”

“Dean, what is it?”

“Where’s Sammy? He okay? Someone … is someone after him?”

John sighed. _Again_. What the hell was this? He thought about calling Sammy. But what good would it do other than to worry him unnecessarily? He was 1,800 miles away and about to get into finals if his memory of past years served him right. No. Best to work this out and when they knew something he’d figure out what to say to his other son.

“Sam’s fine, Dean. He’s away in school. Stanford University. Studying law, remember?”

Dean stared at him. “When did this happen?”

“Three years ago.”

Dean’s stare grew impossibly large. “How is it that I don’t …” He gazed down at his journal in front of him. John saw his eyes scanning the page. Dean’s brow furrowed and he turned the journal back several pages to where he’d first starting writing notes and ran his fingers over the words. He was taking it all in for the first time. Again. The knot in John’s stomach grew even bigger. Something was really wrong.

* * *

Sam stared at the phone in his hand. Scanned the short contact list. Held his finger over his brother’s name for an endless moment. Then flicked the tracker upward.

A husky voice said hello.

“Bobby, it’s Sam.”

“Sam! Nice to hear from you, boy. Finals started yet?”

“Soon. Been studying, you know. Um, Bobby, reason I was callin’ is I was wondering if you heard from Dean? He was on a hunt and … he didn’t get hurt, did he?”

Bobby was quiet a moment and Sam’s heart started to pound. “Yeah. As far as I know he wasn’t hurt. But why don’t you call him yourself?”

Sam’d expected this. Bobby always asked him this whenever he checked up on Dean through him. So hard to explain. The drunk calls seemed to always follow when they talked. Not that they said much. Perfunctory politeness. Dean’d ask how his classes were. Sam would ask about Dean’s last hunt. Neither heard the other’s answer. And then always, a week later, sometimes a little more … he’d get one of those calls. _Hey Sammy. Got cut up some … bitch ghost … killed her cheating husband, haunts the street where they lived. You shoulda seen it, dude … Damn almost got my nuts with that crazy blade. You almost had a sister_. Laughter, high, strange … fading. _Coulda used you, man. Not the same. But ‘s best … you got away. Deserve more. Always were smart. Just wish … but ‘s okay. Better … better this way._

“Bobby. Thanks. I know you think—It’s just better that I don’t call.”

“Better for who?” Bobby asked.

Sam never answered, just said good-bye, be in touch. He swallowed hard and stared blankly at the stack of books he needed to get through before next week. His family. Their world. He couldn’t afford to be distracted now. Not when he needed to keep his GPA high enough to stand a chance at a good law school. Bobby’s words reassured him, but not completely. Dean had sounded really out of it. _Be okay_ , he prayed silently before replacing the phone back in the drawer.

* * *

The doctor looked at him with warm eyes and Dean tried to find reassurance, fight back the fear. He was scheduled for a CAT scan. An image of his brain. The doctor told him not to worry, that this was to rule things out but he’d mentioned the word tumor and it had latched onto Dean’s gut and wasn’t letting go. His father had stood next to him as the doctor explained, never saying anything. He thanked him and Dean did the same and they walked out.

The ride back to the house was long and silent. Dad tried bringing up some conversation but Dean just couldn’t seem to find what to say. His mind felt clear, too clear, and all he could think of was that while he hadn’t expected to live long, he didn’t think he’d die at twenty-five either.

In the house his father tried once more to break the silence. “Dean. Maybe you should call your brother.”

“What? No. Absolutely not.”

Dad looked surprised, then his eyes narrowed. “You remember where he is, right?”

“Yeah. Stanford. Studying for finals and no way are we bothering him now.”

John turned away, Dean couldn’t tell what his father was thinking. No matter. Dean was thinking straight for a change and he knew one thing for certain, he wasn’t going to intrude on Sam’s world with his messed up problems. Especially as he didn’t even know anything. _What if …?_ But he stopped himself, thinking about this would only make him crazy. Well, crazier than he already felt. If things went south after this test then there would be time enough to tell Sam. Was no way he was checking out without seeing his little brother one last time. But there was time enough for all that. First things first as his dad always said.

He blinked. The headache came back with a staggering force. “Dad …” he managed to call out. But his father was already there, steadying him into a chair and rummaging for pain killers. Something was pulling, tugging … Dean held his forehead as if to contain it. He looked around, searched … “Dad? Where’s Sam?”

**Chapter 7**

The doctor looked pleased and Dean shuddered inside wondering if this meant the worst was ruled in or out. From a clinical perspective, wouldn’t it be just as good for the doctor to know either way?

“Your tests all came out clean. The blood work shows nothing abnormal and the scans all were negative.”

John interrupted, “But doc, the headaches, memory loss?”

The doctor’s brow moved in slightly, eyes squinting. “Yes. I understand that your son has physical symptoms but from what we can tell … it appears the problem is psychological.”

Dean stared into the other man’s soft brown eyes. Meant he was losing his mind – literally. A high-pitched chuckle escaped and both men turned to him oddly.

“Sorry, “ he mumbled. “So, what happens next?”

“I can prescribe some medication. An antidepressant and something to help with anxiety. Have you been under much stress lately?”

Dean avoided looking at his father. “Just life,” he answered. “You know.” Except the doctor couldn’t possibly know. And given the huge holes in Dean’s memory – he barely did himself. Just like the last time, things were sharper here in the doctor’s office. The world was in focus. Maybe he needed to bottle up that antiseptic scent and spray it all over the house? Again he fought back a laugh. Felt like he was hanging on without a net. Antidepressants? Right, he’d be mighty helpful in a hunt all drugged up. Mighta been better off with the tumor. At least maybe they coulda cut it out.

They stopped at a drugstore and then headed for home. Dad asked if he was hungry and they pulled into the local diner. Walking through the parking lot Dean absently kicked up a little more of that red dirt that seemed to be everywhere and stopped a moment looking down. His father halted, followed Dean’s eyes but quickly raised them to study Dean.

“You okay?”

Dean blinked and shook his head. “Yeah. Fine. Let’s eat.”

Inside they settled into a booth and Dean opened his menu reading it slowly. So many choices, made his already spinning head twirl even harder.

John looked at him again. “What?” he asked his father.

“Never saw you … aren’t you going to get your usual?”

A waitress approached them and gave Dean a huge, warm smile. Friendly. He shot her a weak grin back and then returned his attention to the menu. She pulled out her pad and looked at his father with a puzzled glance. “The usual?” she asked.

John answered, “For me, yeah. Dean’s … um … still deciding.”

She laughed, “No bacon cheeseburger? What are you, on a diet?”

He looked up at her. Her smile glowed. Did he like bacon cheeseburgers? How did she know this?

Her eyes narrowed as they met his. “Everything okay, Dean?” she asked.

“Yeah. I … you know, how ‘bout just a coffee, hon.”

She walked away quickly, looking almost … hurt, which made absolutely no sense as he’d never seen her before in his life. Dad was studying him again.

“That was Tricia, Dean.”

“Who?”

“The waitress. You used to talk to her all the time. We’ve been coming here every day for the past six weeks and you and her have become … friends.”

“Don’t think so. I’d remember her,” he said with a lopsided grin.

His father didn’t say anything.

“Hey Dad,” he continued. “Where’s Sam?”

Dad shut his eyes a moment. He thought the old man wouldn’t answer but then he met his eyes again and said very slowly, “Sam’s in school. Stanford.”

Tricia brought them two coffees and a burger for his father. As soon as she was gone Dean exclaimed, “What? No shit? Stanford. California? Are we … is this California?”

“No Dean, we’re in Iowa. Waterloo, near Cedar Falls.”

But that meant … “We’re not together?”

John took a long sip of his coffee. “No, we’re not.”

Dean looked down. “Oh.” He picked up his own mug and took a swallow. “Are we on a …” He knew he’d been speaking, sensed he was about to say more but there was nothing there … like the thoughts were vanishing faster than he could get them out. He shut his eyes a moment as the lights of the diner seemed suddenly very bright. A stab of pain shot through his head. Hot, white, razor-sharp … took his breath away and he slumped in the booth.

“Headache again?” the man opposite him asked.

Dean jumped straight. Who the hell was this? He looked around. When … how … did he get here? “I … excuse me, but do I know you?”

The man looked suddenly alarmed. Pulled out his wallet and threw money on the table. “Dean. C’mon, I think we should head home.”

“I don’t know … how do you know my name?”

The man murmured, _oh god_ , under his breath. “Dean, it’s Dad. C’mon son, let’s get you home. Start you on the medicine. Things will get clearer soon.”

 _Dad?_ How could he not know this? Hot tears pooled along his bottom lid as he struggled to remember. “Sam?”

“Sam is your brother.”

Frustration spiked and he fisted away the stray tear. “I know that. Where is he?”

The man guided him out by the elbow, he wrenched his arm free and followed him out silently. “Have you done something to my brother?” he accused as soon as they were outside.

“Dean, please, it’s Dad … Sam is fine, he’s away at school. Let’s go home, okay?”

Dean approached the Impala, touched it gently. He knew this. Was safe. His breathing slowed as he settled into the familiar seat. Even the scent was soothing. Gasoline and leather and … he peered over his shoulder into the back seat … food wrappers. “Gotta clean ‘er up.”

His father peered over at him. “Dean … you feeling better? Do you … do you know me, son?”

Dean stared at his father. “Know you? What kinda question is that?” John exhaled noticeably. Seemed relieved. “Dad? I don’t remember leaving the diner. Did I … black out?”

“No. You just got confused is all. But we’ll get you home and start you on your medication and it’s all going to be alright.”

* * *

Back home Dean seemed fine again. He took the small blue pill and flipped stations on the TV. Didn’t ask about Sam and John figured even just this much was progress. John felt like he’d started breathing again when the doctor told them Dean was fine. Only now he wondered if somebody’d made a mistake. Wasn’t normal to space out the way Dean was doing. And back in the diner, his son had looked at him like he was a stranger. God, that wasn’t anything he wanted to see again.

Since Dean was quiet he stepped outside a moment and quietly dialed his youngest son’s number. A soft voice answered.

“Hello?”

“Adam. It’s Dad.”

Quiet. Then, “Why’d you leave so quick? We didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

He’d forgotten what that teenage whine sounded like. “I know. I’m sorry. It was an emergency, had no choice. Make it up to you next time, okay kiddo?”

John visualized Adam’s mouth pursing as he worked through his annoyance. He had Sam’s whine but Dean’s forgiving temperament. “Sure. Everything okay now?”

John thought about Dean’s empty stare _I don’t know you_. “Yeah. Everything’s fine. I have to go, but I’ll call again in a few days and try to get out to see you as soon as I can. Be a good boy and tell Kate I called, would you?”

“Sure. Bye Dad.”

Back inside he removed the remote from Dean’s grip and threw a blanket over him. He’d fallen asleep on the sofa. Maybe that was good, needed rest, hoped it didn’t mean that new drug was strong enough to knock Dean out. Medicines that fooled with your brain. He didn’t trust any of that.

He poured himself a drink and opened his laptop thinking that continuing with his relentless research on the demon that destroyed his family would actually help calm him. He’d been correlating dozens of weather patterns from all over the country and he was onto something. He knew this. Just didn’t know exactly what yet.

* * *

The creature faced off with Dean for possession of the boy. He knew it would come down to this, had to. Only one of them could keep him. He was stronger now. Fully formed. Legs worked, feet worked, he flexed his fingers – each one moving up and then curling into a fist. He’d pulled many fights out of Dean already. Knew how to punch, how to dodge, kick … dirty fighting Dean called it in his own mind. Street cred. He didn’t exactly know what all this meant only that it would come in handy someday.

Sam was buried deep, was among the furthest memories there were. A woman, _Mommy_ , was touching Dean, her huge belly jutting out urging him to touch it gently. Dean jumped back suddenly when something moved beneath his little fingers. There was a sweet laughter. _That’s your little brother or sister_. Dean’s eyes opened huge as he placed his hand tentatively back onto her stomach smiling hugely when it happened again and again.

Dean’s body shook with strain while trying to keep that one, but the creature was stronger and he whisked it away quick, ran with it, and absorbed it. Once inside, the memory made the creature tremble as if he were the one kicking to be born. And it was true, wasn’t it, this was his birth? From the red clay of his faraway home to the shores of this strange land to this pretty man who he would become. Then he would have to kill the father because his Master had said this was necessary. The creature didn’t understand why this was so, but if Master ordered it and then there was nothing the creature could do but obey. But after that, maybe he’d be able to escape. Leave the Master and find the boy, fill the empty place. And then be with the girls and no one would ever scream again.

They were in a small room. Beige carpeting, beige walls, beige bed. Baby Sammy was holding on to a table, sidling along sideways and Dean moved over to the other side of the room and kneeled down and put his arms out and said _C’mon Sammy … walk here, you can do it, big boy_. Sammy turned to the voice and said _Dn_ and laughed and took off in this run, stumble, fall right into his big brother and they both tumbled backward and giggled for hours. The creature wanted this giggling, it tickled his new throat and made him feel full but the shadow in the corner glared at him.

“Get away from him, you creep!” The creature rose and turned to the shadow. Dean. Not small. Harsh. In the past, it scared him, made him want to run, to hide. But the creature was stronger now and he needed the boy. Could never be _Himself_ without it so he faced his fear, swallowed it and approached the shadow, standing tall.

“Mine,” he said through his newly formed lips. So full and pretty. The girls all said so, all told Dean how fun they were to kiss. The creature tried this, tried to kiss, and she’d screamed and screamed until he had to hold her tight and make her stop. She landed in a heap at his feet and he ran away and hoped his Master never found out because this was _trouble_ and it was something the Master said should never happen.

The shadow rose and pierced him with his green eyes and said, “You can’t have Sam.”

He told the man. “I will get him. He will belong to me and there will be no more empty. He will be _my_ brother.”

“I won't let you ever touch him, you sonovabitch! You stay away from Sam!”

Implacably, he stated the truth. “I will find him and keep him and you will not stop me.”

Suddenly the boy was there, looking up at them with hair partially hiding his eyes. He stood in front of Dean – fiercely protective. The creature stirred, he had not expected to battle both of them. No matter, once he became _Himself_ the boy would come to him. Would be a brother. Would be everything.

Patience exhausted the creature hardened, pulled with a vengeance. Invisible tendrils sliced like razors, swift, precise. His speed was incredible now, too quick for Dean to outrun. Still, the man struggled, agony searing him as one by one the creature snipped, diced, bisected. They hugged each other … Dean and young Sammy. Tears trailed as Dean gasped for breath between huge sobs. _No, please … Sammy_. Crying, broken … Dean fought with all he had, grabbed, held, clutched … between shattered breaths he begged for mercy. A new meaningless word for the creature to twist through his fresh full lips.

* * *

“Dean … Dean, c’mon son, wake up. Snap out of it. It’s just a dream … Dean!”

John shook his son to no avail. He was thrashing, vibrating madly, hand on his forehead, fingers bunching and uncurling as if he were trying to get inside and pull out his own brain. He screamed, raw, guttural, “No … _Sammy_ … NO …”

John couldn’t imagine what nightmare had entangled his eldest this deeply. They’d had some tough scrapes. Close calls. Was he reliving a time when Sam’d been in danger? The boys went on hunts alone … was there something John didn’t know about? Something that had threatened Sam and the memory of it was now driving Dean … _No_. He wasn’t even going to think the word. Dean would be fine.

Suddenly, Dean calmed down, drew breath in deeply as if someone had been choking him but ceased. Slowly he opened his eyes. “Dad …?”

John let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Yeah, I’m here. Right here. You okay?”

“Yeah … I guess. Feel confused. Where are we?”

“We’re in Iowa,” Then quickly he tacked on, “Sam’s in California, away at school.”

“Who?”

John’s heart went cold. “Sammy … your brother.”

Dean’s gaze was blank, dead. “I have a brother?”

 _What was wrong with his son?_ John’s horror was interrupted by the ring of his phone. Reaching for it was easier than facing his son’s empty eyes a second longer. He glanced at the familiar number.

“Bobby,” he answered, amazed he still had the ability to form words.

“John. How’s Dean? Any better?”

Earlier, Bobby had been relieved to hear the tests came out okay. John knew how the older hunter felt about the boys. He hesitated, maybe a drop too long. “He’s the same. Keeps forgetting things.”

He heard breathing on the other end before Bobby spoke again. “John, I thought about what you told me. The client that you didn’t remember that sent Dean on that last job. The haunting.”

John went on alert. “What about it?”

“Said the name was Barrister?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, I don’t know any Barrister. But remember ten years ago in Skokie … we hung out at a hunter’s bar named Barrister’s? Met that hunter Goldman? Smart. Knew all that Jewish lore and mysticism. I left shortly after we met him. But you stayed on longer in Illinois, right?”

The blood drained from John’s face. He shuddered and almost dropped the phone. The dirt. Was red. And Dean … _oh my god_.

“John? You there?”

“B … Bobby … I saw clay, red clay … Could a golem cause Dean’s symptoms?”

“A golem?! Here? You’d have the get the clay from the Middle East … holy land … Not impossible … been some cases in the states but very few. Why would – John, somethin’ happen between you and Goldman?”

Yeah, something had happened. Job’d gone south. And Goldman’s son … John felt he might vomit. Didn’t know what to tell his friend. “We were on a hunt. Shapeshifter. Took on the shape of Goldman’s son … I … was an accident. I thought it was the ‘shifter. But …”

“ _Jesus_. John, how come you never told me this?”

John was silent. What was there to tell? He’d fucked up. And now … now Goldman was getting his revenge … on Dean. This was all his fault. The questions Dean asked over and over. It was sucking his memories. Dean screaming his brother’s name in panic. Thinking someone was after Sammy. Nothing would terrorize Dean more than that.

Bobby’s voice broke through his inner tirade. “John if this is a golem, then you have to get Dean out of there fast. As far away as possible.”

John thought about this. Goldman was smart. Good tracker. Where would they go? And how could Dean live like this? “Bobby. How do we kill it?”

“Well … only way I know of means getting mighty close. The golem will have a word inscribed on its forehead … _emet_ … means truth. You might not see it but it’ll be there. You have to cut out the first letter, then the word’s meaning changes to death. But John, how would you find it?”

“Not sure, but every time it’s near Dean … well, I can tell.”

Bobby snorted, “This is nuts! You gotta get Dean away from there. It’s been at Dean for days already. Sapping his memories. More, everything he knows. Getting stronger every time. Soon there won’t be any Dean, only it.”

John steeled himself. Fought the pain of the other man’s words. He had to end this. Dean had lost more than he could bear if he knew. It had been days, long enough for it to be permanent unless the golem was killed. Dean without Sammy? It just … he couldn’t leave his son this way.

“Bobby. I … have to go. I’ll call you before I … I promise.”

He hung up. Looked toward Dean. Got a vapid gaze in return. _I’m sorry … so sorry, Dean. I’ll make it right. Get you back Sam. I promise._

**Chapter 8**

**Burkittsville, Indiana**

**April 15, 2006**

Dean quit squirming because other than bloodying his wrists this was accomplishing nothing. The sun was lower but he still had time. Just needed to think of something. _Sam, any ideas? **I got nuthin’, Dean**. Was afraid you’d say that. _

Emily broke through the noise in his head. “So this is what you do.” She stopped and let out a nervous giggle. “I mean, not _this_ , exactly … but go around fighting monsters?”

He chuckled back. “Yeah. Pretty much. Me and my dad. And recently, me and my brother, Sam.”

“Oh. And where is Sam?”

Dean startled at the question. He’d been getting flashes of last year’s events since he made the connection to the date. He remembered that. Asking that same question over and over. Never knowing, as the tight, hot worry sprung up his gut each time. Because he always knew where Sam was. It was his job to know.

“Sam’s on his way to California. Looking for our dad.”

“Is your dad missing?” Emily asked.

“He was. But he called and we think he’s in Sacramento.” What could he tell this girl? The dysfunction that was his family was not chit-chat material. And despite everything, he wished his family were together with all that he had. Maybe he should have gone with Sam to find Dad. Except his father had ordered them not to find him. And Dad was the smartest hunter there was. If he said stay away there had to be a mighty fine reason. Not to mention the young couple still breathing because of Dean. Couldn’t have let them become fertilizer for this depraved orchard.

A year ago Dad saved Dean’s life. Parts of this he wished he could forget. His father brandishing the deadly blade just inches away … nope, better to leave that sleeping dog alone. Good reason for lots of Dad’s choices. After, Dean had blacked out. Woke up to his father’s ashen face and knew instantly that whatever had just gone down had cost his old man. Owing his life to his father was nothing new. He pulled again at the damn ropes. He had to get out of this. Get back in the game. Couldn’t leave his brother and father alone – not with the evil that his father was chasing.

He needed to pull a Houdini. It would kill, but maybe there was a way to dislocate some bones in his hands and wedge his way free. **_That’s your plan? You have got to be kiddin’ me_** _. Shut up, Sam._

* * *

**_  
_**

**Waterloo, Iowa**

**April 2005**

John circled the house. Spotted the clay tracks and had to suck in air to keep from vomiting on the spot. How had he missed this? Then he remembered that all this started when he was away – in Minnesota. Giving driving lessons to the little brother that he was keeping from Dean and all the time Dean’s other brother was being ripped out of his mind. The sick irony threatened to incapacitate him again.

He pictured Goldman’s sharp brown eyes. Bobby was right. Man was smart. Knew his stuff. Must have been planning this for years. Not like you can mail order the clay, not to mention the amount of time it would take, the knowledge lost for eons, the rituals, sacrifices … he shuddered. And this _thing_ was morphing into Dean. Would know _feel_ everything his son knew. Would be a perfect, soulless copy, leaving Dean trapped in an empty shell.

There was nothing out here now. He imagined that seeing John might have made it leave. Golems were naturally fearful. Obedient to their master and sometimes to other authority figures. His mind swirled with ideas and half-formed plans. He studied the calm street another long moment before stepping back inside. The memories would ricochet back and forth between Dean and the golem for a while. _Please, let him know his brother again._

Dean was up and pacing. “Why don’t I know anything?” he barked at John as soon as he stepped back inside.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you said I had a brother … and there’s nothing … but I should know this, it’s fucking wrong that I don’t. And everything I do know is worthless … Pierre is the capital of South Dakota. Now why the hell do I know that and don’t know … can’t remember … Dammit … tell me his name again.”

“Who?”

Dean glared at him. “My little brother.”

John took a deep breath. Maybe it was coming back. He hadn’t mentioned birth order. John stepped closer, reached out with his hand but Dean pulled back, eyes tortured. “Sammy,” he reminded his boy.

Dean closed his eyes. Shuddered. If it were possible to see an inner war then this is what John was witnessing. His son’s hand moved out as if touching something gently.

“I felt him,” Dean whispered. “Felt him kick.”

John’s eyes filled fast. Dean was remembering Sammy before he was born. When Mary’d hold her little boy’s hand over her belly and Dean’s eyes turned to saucers and his smile filled his face. And John had thought that life could never be more perfect than that. He’d been right.

Dean staggered. John reached him before he fell and guided Dean gently down on the sofa. “ _Sa… mmy_ … “ His son uttered his brother’s name once in a prayer so deep, so painful, John thought the grief of it would swallow him whole. Dean started gulping huge breaths as he leaned into John’s shoulder and sobbed like John hadn’t seen in twenty years. “Dad—dy, it took him.”

“Dean. Nobody took him. Your brother’s fine. Trust me. I’ll get him back for you.”

“Can’t … black … all black. ‘S wrong. ‘S ‘m broth …”

John thought of calling Sam but it wouldn’t help. Dean wouldn’t know who he was talking to. The transference was too deep. It was a testament to his son’s strength that he retained any memory at all. Days. That abomination had been devouring his son’s brain for days and he’d stood idly by. Or worse … wasn’t here. Was sneaking off to allow himself the gift of innocence – a gift he’d denied this son.

Dean pulled away and took a series of deep breaths. John could tell he was trying to get himself together, bring himself back. He jumped up suddenly swiping angrily at his eyes. “Fuck,” he uttered. “What is happening to me?”

Dean hardly cursed in front of John. Always showed respect. But this was beyond anything they’d faced before. John steadied himself. He owed his eldest the truth.

“There’s a golem after you.”

Dean stared at him. “A what?”

“It’s an ancient evil. A … man … made out of clay. Special dirt from Jerusalem.”

“What’s this got to do with me?”

John took in Dean’s red-rimmed eyes, gaunt expression, perpetually puzzled stare. Heard the broken plea for his baby brother claw its way out of his son’s heart. No, only the absolute truth would do here. “Years ago I met a hunter.” At Dean’s raised brow he added, “That’s what I … what we do, Dean … we hunt evil, monsters. You were young when I met Joe Goldman. He and his son were hunters. In Illinois. We got wind of strange murders. People seemingly being in the same place twice. He told me it was a shapeshifter. Someone … _something_ that can take on the form of someone else. Copy their body.”

He stopped. It was impossible not to see the parallels. Only a shapeshifter was able to tap into memories, providing he kept his victim alive and relatively well. The golem _became_ his victim. Bobby was right. If the merge continued to completion there would be no more Dean.

“I still don’t—“

“The shapeshifter assumed the form of Michael – Goldman’s son. We were tracking it. I hadn’t realized that Michael had gotten free, was also tracking it. Thought it was the ‘shifter when I killed it—him.”

Dean’s eyes locked with his, voice like a sigh, “You killed his son?”

John looked away. Couldn’t meet that warm gaze. It should have been outraged, horrified, angry. Instead, there was only caring.

“Didn’t know. Even right after, I didn’t know. Not until Joe showed up and I saw Michael standing behind him ready to strike.”

Dean reached for his shoulder but pulled back upon John’s stiffness. “Then what happened?” he asked.

“I was so shocked I couldn’t move. Joe swung around quickly and took the sonovabitch down himself. That was it. Never said another word to me. Carried his son out of there and never looked back. But clearly he hasn’t forgotten. He had to be planning this for a long time. The golem is like a shapeshifter. It’s going to assume your shape. But it’s more. It’s stealing your memory, your knowledge. Takes time. Can’t get it all at once and often the memories will bounce back to you many times before he can keep them.”

Dean stared at him. “It’s like I can feel the gaps. Know that I’m supposed to know things, but I just don’t. Dad, will I forget you?”

John wanted to say no, but couldn’t. “Dean. In order to kill this thing I have to get close. Have to cut into its brain. The best way to track it—”

“Is through me,” Dean interrupted.

John couldn’t help but admire the innate hunter skills Dean had. Even with Swiss cheese for a mind he knew what to do.

“If we kill it … will all my memories come back?”

“Yes. They should. But, Dean … the more time it spends near you the stronger it gets, the more it takes. If it takes too much—”

“No. We do this. It doesn’t … doesn’t only want me.”

John met Dean’s eyes, knew instantly it was settled, there was no other way.

Dean nodded and walked slowly around the room. John felt the moment his son’s eyes rested on the framed photo on the book shelf. An old photo of the three of them. Pastor Jim had taken it years ago. Dean fingered the photo.

“I feel him,” he said so softly John wasn’t even sure he’d understood.

“The creature?” John asked alarmed.

Dean nodded. “No. Well, maybe, but not now. Sam. I can’t remember … boy’s face isn’t familiar. But I still feel …” His voice dropped. “I love my brother.”

John swallowed hard. “Yeah. You do.”

* * *

The world didn’t look all green. It was better. It glowed like a rainbow with reds and blues and yellows as hot as the sun and, yes, greens. Eyes were mighty important. The creature had seen before. Shapes, curves, definitions. Could see colors and knew black and white. But this was special. He was special now. The girl had looked at him and her smile glowed pink and white and rose and sparkly – filling her face with warmth. He used his new beautiful lips to show off his new shiny teeth and the world went from warm to hot.

New parts to this magnificent body moved and tightened and throbbed. He remembered the words the man, Dean, had used when these feelings took over … _oh baby, yeah, more, oh god_ … because he was a talker _whatever that was_ and the girl laughed and asked if he was a screamer, but the creature didn’t want this because screaming was bad. There wasn’t time to pursue this girl even though his body was trembling with want for her. The Master didn’t know, couldn’t know … because he would talk again about trouble and maybe lock him up and he really didn’t want that.

The Master gave him many directions, instructions … he was a genius, he knew everything. The creature knew only what Dean knew. He knew Sam. He knew hunting. He knew Mom. He knew lots of pretty girls. And tonight … he’d know Dad.

They pulled in front of the house across the street and he reached out. Dean was awake. Disappointing but surmountable. The creature had gotten very strong. The physical transformation was complete. All that was left were a few more threads. Take the father. Then go back for some cleanup. Dean would be empty and the creature would be done. He’d finally be _Himself_. He’d asked the Master if after the father was dead they’d kill Dean, too. He’d been told no. Couldn’t do that. Needed him to breathe. They shared an essence. The creature didn’t know what that was but he would take care of Dean.

The Master said he’d be like an idiot brother. That word again. He wanted to tell the Master that he was planning on going for his real brother, Sam. So that he could really become _Himself_. But he knew the Master would not like that. Complication. So he kept his plans to himself.

The fight for Dad started almost as soon as he entered Dean’s mind. Dean was strong. Fierce. On fire. It stunned the creature and momentarily scared him. Something was wrong. He wanted to run, to tell the Master to leave, please … _Get out, you muddy bastard, worthless piece of evil bile, get the fuck out of my head!_ The creature retreated and hid in a dark corner. What had happened? It’s like … Dean knew. He steadied himself and tried again … reaching out deftly. There – Dad teaching him to shoot. Target range. _Hold it steady, son. Go with it, don’t fight it._ Big smile.

Dean shuddered and lashed out but the memory was _his_. Too late. The creature had the upper hand again. Remembered how strong he’d become, acted quick. Snipped and sliced and carved, consumed. Events flashed like flickers. Bruises and tears and hugs and anger and laughter and _fear_ … Dad ran, scooped up Dean, whisked him away before the air turned to hell behind them. Deep brown eyes burned into him until Dean realized he was all Dad had – he and Sammy were his father’s whole world and he’d do anything … _anything_ … to protect him. Make it better. _Stop. You can’t have him. Dad! Sam, Sam!_ And his brother appeared. The creature stopped, tried to push Sam back … away. But he escaped – ran to Dean.

“Sam!”

“Dean! Man, it’s good to see you.”

“Thing’s got me. Keeps trying to take you away.”

“I know. But you’re stronger. Fight it.”

“Dude, you got tall. Like a Sasquatch.”

Laughter rang in the creature’s head and he put his hands to his ears to try to block it out. Rage flowed through him. _You do not laugh at me!_ He reached in and shoved Sam the hell back deep and glared at the man he was becoming. _I’ll be back_.

“Counting on it, Arnold.”

The Master touched his shoulder. “Enough for tonight. A few more nights and we’ll be done. Let’s go now.”

* * *

Watching Dean suffer as that thing raped his mind was threatening to tear John apart. His son moaned and begged, head turning and hands clenching, body contorting in the seat. John had to bite his knuckle to keep from running out of the car and stabbing this thing in the eye right now. Only it wouldn’t work. The monster would disappear the minute John was spotted. If Goldman caught on that John knew, he’d run away. Bide his time and attack again when they stopped expecting it.

In the meantime, Dean would be left with huge gaps and an aching heart where his brother’s face used to be. No. This was the only way. They would track it. Kill it. He turned back to Dean. “Fight it son, fight it.”

“Trying,” Dean stuttered. “Pulling … keeps pulling. Wants … you.”

John squeezed Dean’s shoulder. “I’m not leaving you. No matter what it does, you remember that.”

Dean’s eyes met his for an agonized moment before rolling backward in his head and with a loud cry he slumped forward.

“Dean! Dean, you okay?” John shook him.

An eternity passed as Dean sat slumped in the passenger seat.

Then, breathily, “Dad? Go straight … then left.”

John exhaled sharply and stepped on the gas. They were going to follow the thing back to where it was hiding and end this.

“Is it gone, Dean? Out of your head?”

Dean held his forehead. “Yeah. Getting better,” Dean’s lips rose into an almost grin. “Giving it a hard time. Helps to know.”

His son’s voice sounded odd. Almost pleased.

“Dean?”

“Got back some … Sam … Sam’s tall.”

John laughed. It escaped his lips like a foreign noise but, damn, those words were the sweetest he’d heard in a long time. “Yeah. Kid got real tall.”

“Turn right up ahead. Don’t get too close … or it’ll know.”

“You sense each other?”

“Yeah. But if there’s enough distance I can hide that I’m here.” Dean paused. “Thing’s horny.”

“What?”

“Dad, it wants girls. Obsessed with sex. Like it latched onto my adolescence and wants to relive each hormone-driven adventure.”

John chuckled. Good luck with that, Goldman, he thought darkly. But there was something to Dean’s quiet that broke through John’s temporary humor.

“Dean?”

“Not sure. Think it mighta hurt someone. A girl.”

Dammit. “Not your fault, Dean.”

More silence.

He drove on, staying just enough behind to hopefully mask Dean’s presence. He wished he could have left him home but Dean’s connection to the Golem made the tracking possible. If he just followed Goldman outright he’d be made and the gig would be up.

“It stopped. Up ahead. Maybe two blocks.”

He told Dean to stay in the car and walked slowly up the street.

**Chapter 9**

Dean twitched while staring out the window. Too much time had passed. Something had gone wrong. He should never have let his dad go alone. Should have his back. He waited a few more moments, tension shimmying in his gut. Once he was closer the creature would be able to infiltrate his mind again. Make him forget. Wipe out the first letter – slash into his brain. But if he didn’t know this? If he became a blithering idiot again? Would he help Dad or get him hurt … or worse? He still had only bare, sketchy memories of Sam. But he wished he were here with all he had. Dammit, he couldn’t sit here any longer.

Decision made he exited the vehicle and walked in the direction Dad had taken. He kept to the shadows. The residential street was quiet, lined with small, mostly ramshackle houses all solidly in the needing TLC category. Looked exactly like the block they lived on. He saw the dirt … red, almost glowing in the dim streetlamp. He bent down and touched it. Fine, turned to a powder that colored his fingers rust. He rubbed it off on his jeans, feeling like the inside of his brain must be covered in that blood powder, smothering who he was.

It came fast and he lost a step despite his expectation. Still, he was as prepared as he’d ever be for this attack. He visualized a huge iron door, slammed it shut and walked onward. The thing pounded and lunged, threw its weight against the door. Only it didn’t have the bulk it once had – they were evenly matched now. He saw _himself_ on the other side of that door – struggling ineffectually against it. Shit – that meant the physical transformation was complete. That thing looked like him. So anything it had done, the glimpse of violence against that girl … Dean suddenly felt sick.

The way was clear, he worked his way around the back of the house tracing the steps he knew his father must have taken. The back door swung open as he nudged it. _Trap_. Had to be. Too easy. He held his knife taunt. Fought to keep the knowledge, cut through the first letter, Hebrew, reads right to left. His head was quiet. It was no longer trying to get in. Gut tight he continued past the tiny out-of-date kitchen into the dark living room beyond. Pulling out a flashlight he kept it low, they knew he was here. It knew. Surprise was impossible but it only had as good vision as he had. No need to make easy for the creature.

A dark shadow in the back of the room caught his attention. _Oh god_. Dad was tied to a chair, bandana around his mouth. Dean ran over and cut the knots around his father’s wrists. John pulled off the gag, yelling, “Watch out!” as he pushed Dean down. But it was too late, something hard struck the back of his head and he saw stars. Dean fell, landed hard on his chest with an air-expelling grunt. He turned instantly, knife tight, out, ready as he got to his feet.

His dad stood with his back to Dean, another man at his side with a revolver to his father’s head. And between Dean and them stood … himself. His own eyes looked at him, his own voice said, “Drop it.” Dean backed away and let the knife fall. The golem picked it up and handed it to the man holding the gun on his dad. So far, Dean knew what was going on – not that he liked any of it. His mind was clear.

The man, had to be Goldman, said, “Take off your jacket.”

Dean shrugged it off, eyes never leaving his father’s back. The golem switched on the light and Dean blinked to adjust to the sudden brightness. He now saw the rigidity in his father’s back as he stood perfectly still beside the nutjob holding him at gunpoint. Dean knew what had happened years ago. But it made no difference. This SOB was threatening his dad. Anger raced up his spine.

“We are pretty,” the golem said in Dean’s voice.

“Shut up,” Goldman barked and the creature shrunk a bit and lowered its head.

“Now your shirt,” Goldman commanded toward Dean. “Take it off.”

What was this? Dean unbuttoned his denim shirt, stripped to his gray tee-shirt. He stared at his double, wearing the same gray tee-shirt and blue jeans and his mouth went dry. His father’s shoulders shook at the same moment. He must have realized … _No_.

“You came here to kill my golem? Well, I’m going to give you a chance.” Goldman stepped away from John but the gun didn’t waver. “I’m going to hand you your son’s knife. Don’t think it … I can shoot your son before you can do anything.” The gun shifted slightly. John reached out and took the knife, turned slowly.

They both yelled, “Dad” at the same time. They both turned toward each other. It came at him from inside and they both flinched. It pretended to feel the headache and it was good. Like looking in a goddamn mirror. Oh no you don’t, he thought as he fought back. The iron door vanished. It was looking for Dad within his memories again. Ammunition. Dean shut his eyes a moment against the strain.

“Dad,” he yelled again only to hear it echoed seconds behind. Even he wasn’t sure who said it first.

“Time to choose, John. What’s the matter? Wasn’t such a hard choice ten years ago. Didn’t hesitate then, did you, when you slaughtered my son in cold blood?”

“I … can’t,” John uttered.

“Oh yes you can. You will cut into the brain of one of your two sons or I will put a bullet into both their hearts. Of course, my golem will recover from this. Will Dean?”

John staggered forward, met Dean’s eyes a moment then turned toward the golem. Dean’s eyes widened. _Oh god_. Dad couldn’t tell. Dean and the creature started talking at once, words overlapping, covering each other’s like a dance.

“Dad … Dad, it’s me.”

“Don’t do this, you know me.”

“Ask me something … it doesn’t know everything yet.”

“It’s okay … no matter what happens … Dad, I …”

Goldman was losing patience, “Now John. Tick-tock.”

His father came closer, touched the golem’s cheek, peered deep into its eyes. Dean watched the tear track down the thing’s face. His father’s eyes were wet but he didn’t cry. The thing uttered, “Dad,” with so much emotion that Dean almost believed the thing could feel. Now John turned to Dean, but didn’t touch his face as he had the golem. Their eyes met and the hardness he saw in Dad’s dark stare chilled Dean to the bone. John raised the hand with the knife to Dean’s face, ran the blade softly over his right eyebrow. It felt like a cold caress. _His father was going to kill him_. The certainty of it rocked his core, stole his speech. He couldn’t even plead for his life, he shut his eyes and thought his brother’s name, hoping that somehow, somewhere, Sam would hear him say goodbye.

John’s arm rose in an arc, turned and slashed down hard above the golem’s right eye. Dean opened his eyes in time to see his own bloody, glassy-eyed stare before they both fell in a heap at John’s feet. Shadows converged above him but by then he couldn’t see anymore … couldn’t hear above the clamor, chaos of his entire life rushing back at him in a tumultuous rush. His head burned as if a bomb had exploded and with a last agonized cry he blacked out.

* * *

Dean awakened to warm blue eyes looking down at him. “John. He’s up,” a gruff voice said.

“Bobby?”

His father rushed over. Stared at him. “Dean. You okay? What do you remember?”

Images swirled and turned, a parade with no beginning, no end. He saw himself fall dead. “The golem?” he asked.

“It’s dead, Dean … Son, you got your memories back?”

He tried to sit up, fought the wave of dizziness the movement brought. Bobby was at his side, “Easy boy. You got quite the head rush. Gonna take some time.”

Dean touched his head as if trying to feel the thoughts that flooded him. “I think so, Dad. At least I hope so. I guess I’ll never know what I forgot.” He turned back to Bobby. “How’d … when’d you get here?”

“Didn’t like your crazy plan to take this on … wasn’t going to let you two go at it alone.”

Dean looked from Bobby to his father, still fighting to remember. “I remember Goldman holding a gun on us. The golem looked just like me.” It came back in a rush and he met his father’s eyes. “How did you—“ But he stopped. Bobby was here. He couldn’t talk about this. Not now. Maybe not ever.

Bobby rose then, patting Dean’s shoulder a moment. “Be right back,” he mumbled before heading toward their bathroom. Dean didn’t know if the older man really just had to go relieve himself or was giving them some space. Didn’t really matter. He still didn’t know what he could ask. Or could bear to hear.

John sat down next to Dean. “I know what you thought,” John began, voice like gravel. “But I _knew_ , son.”

Dean wanted to believe this more than he wanted to breathe. “How?” he asked brokenly.

His father looked at him with an expression Dean remembered from long ago. Memories the golem had stolen now hovered near the surface. _I need you, Dad_. He swallowed the knot threatening to choke him and reached up to take his dad in a tight hug. The warmth of his father’s embrace penetrated the fear that Dean fought with every breath and never could completely set aside. He didn’t need an answer. Just needed this.

They came apart as Bobby reentered the room.

John smiled. “Was also the red clay.”

Dean looked at his dad with puzzled eyes.

“You had it smeared all over your jeans. It didn’t.”

* * *

**Galesburg, Illinois**

**April 16, 2006**

They’d driven eight hours straight but damn, they were so gonna leave that miserable state behind. Kansas, California, Iowa, Indiana … Dean was building up quite the list of states he’d rather never see again. Ah, was just sitting too damn long, wasn’t like him to hold a grudge.

Dean tossed his duffel on the bed nearest the door and asked Sam if he was cool with pizza.

“Sure,” his brother answered. “More beat than hungry.”

“I’m both.”

Sam didn’t reply. They found a place that delivered and mercifully it came quick. Devouring his third slice of ‘his half’ he looked at Sam’s in disgust. Plain. What was the freakin’ point of pizza with nothing on it. Freak.

He’d been surprised when Sam said he’d be staying with him. Didn’t see that coming. Not much surprised him these days. Well, the scarecrow and those damn townspeople, but he wasn’t going to count those. _At least that creature didn’t talk, didn’t tell him how pretty he was._ But the going after women … Must be a monster thing.

It had taken a while to uncover everything last year. Dad was pretty tight lipped. The golem had strangled at least two women. The police didn’t connect the cases. Each had witnesses but nobody reliable. One described a six foot man with medium build and short hair. Pretty average. Dean had never felt good about being thought of that way before, but he did now. The idea that a girl’s last sight before death was his face had sickened him.

He remembered the shapeshifter in St. Louis. That one, he’d killed himself. Second time he stared into his own dead eyes. Wasn’t something a person should ever have to do. Hoped to god he never had to do it again.

“What day is it?” he asked Sam.

“Huh?”

“The date.”

“April 16th. Why … we late with our tax filing?” Sam laughed.

“No, jerk.” Let’s see, _thirty days have September,_ _April, June, and …_ “Fourteen days left.”

“Till what?”

“Damn month ends.”

“Somethin’ happening at the end of this month?” Sam asked puzzled.

Dean downed the last of his Doctor Pepper. “Yeah, May.” Sam just stared at him. “ ‘S nothing, really. Just think April is cursed for me. Pagan god this year. Damn golem last year.”

Sam jumped up like something bit him. “Wh … at?! You never told me that. A golem? Here, in America?”

Dean smirked, “No, not here … was the spring I spent in the kibbutz knitting mittens. ‘Course it was here. Well, not _here_ here, Iowa. Clay came from the holy land though. Red, flaked like a powder.” He looked at his fingers as if expecting to still see the stain there.

Sam was looking at him oddly. Dean could see the wheels spinning as his little brother caught up. “A golem? It … it was linked to you?”

“Yeah. Weird.” He was starting to feel sorry he’d brought this up at all. Shouldn’t have. Would lead to questions he didn’t want to answer.

Didn’t take long. “Why, Dean? Why would someone send a golem after you? That kind of black magic … ‘s ancient, it’s not like just anyone knows how to… Would have to be a hunter, like Dad …” Dean waited, not surprised at Sam’s quick insight. Now he really needed to change the subject.

Sam challenged him. “They weren’t really after you. Were after Dad through--What’d he do to piss someone off that much?”

Dean made a show of scrunching up the pizza box so it could fit into the room’s small garbage pail.

“Dean …”

“Sam. Look, when we find Dad you can ask if you want. Not mine to share.”

Sam bitchfaced. “It went after you.”

“Yeah. And Dad killed it. End of story.”

His brother was quiet. Drank the last of his soda. He ran his hands through his perpetually too-long bangs and exposed his forehead a moment.

“You called me,” Sam said suddenly, jaw muscles twitching.

“What?”

“A year ago. The phone message. Bobby never—”

“What are you going on about?”

Sam looked at him, then away. “Nothing, never mind.”

Dean thought there might be more but was too exhausted to get into it. He flopped down on his bed with a groan. Man, he was tired. Sam sat on the edge of his own bed. Still seemed preoccupied. Dean was really sorry he’d brought up any of last year’s events. Hoped Sam wasn’t regretting his decision that they stay together.

Sam stood and started undressing, taking out the sweats he slept in. “You know, next April, you, me … and Dad … should go someplace warm and safe and just hole up. Take the month off. Whadya think?”

Dean’s eyes were shut. “Sounds good,” he murmured. _You, me and Dad_.

“Then I won’t have to save your ass. Again,” Sam snarked.

Dean opened his eyes, took in his ginormous brother standing over him smirking, eyes warm. Felt real good.

“I told you, dude, I had a plan. Had it under control.”

“Right. What plan?”

“Was gonna dislocate my hand bones and slide my way outta the ropes. Easy as pie.”

Sam stared at him incredulously. “ _That_ was your plan? You have got to me kiddin’ me.”

“Shut up, Sam.”

**_fin_ **

**Author's Note:**

> beta: borgmama1of5


End file.
